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A 

GUMBO LILY 

AND 

OTHER TALES 


BY 




STELLA GILMAN 


THE 



Hbbcy press 

PUBLISHERS 

114 

FIFTH AVENUE 

XonDon NEW YORK /iBontrcal 




THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 
Two Copifed RectivED 

SEP. 25 I90t 

Copyright entry 

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CLASS Cc, xX<x N». 
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COPY 8. 


Copyright, iqoi, 
by 

THE 


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^ r . t . 



STELLA GILMAN 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

A Gumbo Lily 5 

Barbed Wire 44 

One of the Colony s. 74 

The Person Concerned 84 

A Little Daughter of Eve iii 

Locoed 117 

The Little Ring 132 

But the Stars Shone 135 

As Prohibited 145 

When Mother Married 153 






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BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. 


In “ A Gumbo Lily,” etc., Stella Lucile Gilman comes be- 
fore the public for the first time since the publication of 
“ That Dakota Girl,” some years since, which met with a much 
warmer reception from public and press than is usually ac- 
corded a first production. 

Miss Gilman, though a Philadelphian by birth, followed the 
star of empire Westward, as a little child, removing to Dakota 
Territory in 1878, where she has ever since resided, with the 
exception of brief visits in the South and East. ' 

Living on a ranch near Hudson, South Dakota, and pos- 
sessing a wide acquaintance with all sorts and conditions of 
Western people, and being familiar with Western growth, 
she is herself a thorough Westerner. She knows her country 
as it was and is, and writes whereof she know’s. 





A GUMBO LILY. 


Lisbeth^ Brantner’s kid, when I have told 
you of her, I have told you my story. The 
life I lived before I knew her cuts no figure. 
But it was at a time when I stood in need of 
some restraining influence, some saving touch, 
that she fixed herself in my horizon, to stay. 

I had drifted into Onabender on the tide of 
eighty-three and four. Age, twenty. Re- 
sources, seventeen dollars and thirty-nine 
cents, an iron constitution, and an extremely 
variegated experience. Expectations, nil. 
Speedily sizing up Onabender and its pros- 
pects, I decided to locate, and four hours after 
my arrival, had opened up the first Real Es- 
tate Office in town. The place, just heaving on 
the first rise of a boom, was flooded with 
strangers. It was a difficult matter finding 
board or lodging of any kind. Directed finally 
to Bill Brantner’s cabin on the hill, I made my 
way there, to meet at the door a weary- 
looking woman in a faded calico, who, shak- 

5 


6 


A Gumbo Lily. 


iiig her head, announced that she was already 
over-crowded. I was turning away, when a 
little girl of eight came shyly to the doorway, 
looked up into my face and whispered to her 
mother, “ Let’s let him stay, mamma, he looks 
so tired.” The mother, laughing, asked me to 
enter, and she’d see. 

Well I became a permanent boarder at 
Brantner’s, the child, Lisbeth and I, fast 
friends. She had the freedom of my room, at 
all times, and did pretty much as she pleased 
with my few belongings. There was a big cut- 
glass decanter on my table, a parting present 
from some old cronies down in Denver, in 
which I usually kept something pretty good, 
for my friends to take. I know I drank too 
much myself, in those days. And I think Lis- 
beth must have heard her mother say that it 
was whisky that made me so. ill sometimes, for 
one day when I entered my room for a bracer 
before dinner, I found the decanter empty, and 
Lisbeth calmly filling it with flowers, gumbo 
lilies. ‘‘ That old red bitter stuff makes you 
sick, Gilbert, so I’ve emptied it all out and put 
some flowers in it for you,” she exclaimed. 

I don’t know just why, but I never put an- 
other drop of whisky in that decanter. And 
one day I told an acquaintance, Jake Dunham, 
why I never kept the stuff on hand any more. 
He was disgusted. “ You ought to have 


A Gumbo Lily. 7 

slapped the kid and made her dad replace the 
liquor,” he exclaimed. 

“ Great Scott, man ! ” I blurted out. I 
couldn’t do that you know. What the Jerusa- 
lem do you take me for ! ” and I turned and 
walked away, and after that I never cared a 
great deal for Jake’s society, and Jake in turn 
laid it up against me, and lost no opportunity 
of telling the boys, privately, not publicly, that 
Gil Pierson was all sorts of a fool. But mean- 
while my life was broadening out into a gen- 
tler, straighter channel. My business pros- 
pered. I spent fewer evenings at the “ Pearly 
Gate.” I wrote oftener to my mother. Every 
month I intended to run down to Denver and 
surprise her with a visit. But I kept putting 
it off, and putting it off, till one day, when I 
had just finished reading a more than usually 
urgent letter from home, the plain fact that 
I could not go away from Bender sprang up 
and looked me in the face. I couldn’t leave 
the child, Lisbeth, for she was an orphan now ; 
early that fall the sweet-faced mother had 
folded her tired hands for a long rest under 
the sun-flowers and the asters, leaving the 
slender slip of a girl, scarcely twelve years old, 
to look out for her father and herself as best 
she could. Old Brantner was kind to Lisbeth, 
as a rule, but he had never had the care of her, 
and anyhow, he was off freighting it most of 
the time, so that naturally enough I came to 


8 


A Gumbo Lily. 


act as sort of guardian to the child. I just 
couldn’t leave her, that was all. There was 
an aunt of hers, in the East somewhere, her 
mother’s sister, I believe. She wrote to her to 
come and live with her ; that it wasn’t right nor 
proper for her to stay out there and grow up 
with a lot of roughs. She didn’t use those 
words exactly, perhaps, but that is what she 
meant. 

And Lisbeth? She never so much as hesi- 
tated. Two trails stretched out before her. 
Down one was pleasure, comfort, education, 
and what the world calls propriety, conven- 
tionality, and all that. Down the other duty, 
just duty. Unflinchingly she chose the lattter. 
She wasn’t going to leave her old father, she 
said, and she didn’t, and what is more, she 
never told him of the chance that she’d had, or 
the sacrifice that she had made for his sake. 
Grit, clear through, was Lisbeth. 

Well, the years passed quietly enough after 
that, till the summer that Lisbeth was seven- 
teen. Then in a single day, in an instant, the 
whole world, everything, got all swung around 
somehow, got changed, forever, for me, — for 
Lisbeth. 

It was a June morning and I was walking 
along the dusty street that led up the hill to 
Brantner’s, where it ended or rather branched 
off abruptly, into a fainter side-trail that joined 
the main road down the river. I was going 


9 


A Gumbo Lily. 

home to dinner. Just before reaching the hill, 
I noticed in a patch of gumbo, to the left of the 
road, a few white lily-buds, the first of the sea- 
son. Blooming just especially for Lisbeth, I 
thought, as I picked my way over the quaking, 
quivering gumbo, after them. I brought out 
about thirty pounds of the glue-mud on each 
boot, but I had the lilies, a fragrant handful. 
“ Just like her for all the world,” I said to my- 
self, as I walked on my way again. “ All ten- 
der and white, and pink-flushed when you 
touch them, and blossoming, too, in such vile 
soil, where no other good thing grows.” 

She was sitting in the doorway of the cabin, 
sewing, as I approached. Catching sight of 
her, I stopped, stood still. Whether it was just 
the way she looked, there in the warm June 
sunshine, or her womanly occupation, or the 
little feminine twitch that she gave the front 
of her scrimpy calico skirt, as I drew near, I 
shall never know. At any rate, it burst upon 
me like a gun-shot, the fact that Lisbeth was 
a woman! No longer a child, but a woman 
grown. What had I been thinking of not to 
have noticed it before? The thing had hap- 
pened before my very eyes, yet never had struck 
me till now. I kept saying it to myself, Lit- 
tle Lisbeth, a woman! Beats all how time 
evaporates. Beats all how kids will grow ! ” 
And then came a quick pinch at my heart with 
the thought that she might not need me much 


10 


A Gumbo Lily. 


longer now, together with another feeling, new 
and strange, that I did not, rather would not, 
comprehend. I went up to her. I gave her 
the flowers. 

Oh ! Gumbo lilies ? ” she said, with a quick 
smile, as she took them. How pretty. I didn’t 
know that they were out yet. Thank you, Gil- 
bert.” I looked to see her run into the house 
to put them into water, in the old decanter, 
that she still insisted upon filling with some- 
thing better than bitter red stuff. But no, she 
did not put them in water. She tucked their 
slender stems into her faded calico gown jiist 
where the white buds rose and fell as she 
breathed. And I was strangely glad that she 
did this. I thought how much better they 
looked there than they would stuck off by them- 
selves, in some glass thing, full of water. But 
I didn’t know why I thought this. I didn’t 
ask myself why. Instead I asked her what 
she was doing — a foolish question. Never, in 
my life before, had I felt any such awkward- 
ness and embarrassment before Lisbeth. 
“ Why,” she said, looking up with a laugh, 
“ where are your big brown eyes, Gilbert ? 
Can’t they see any more? I’m mending your 
last summer’s coat; you’ll be needing it now, 
it’s getting so warm. I don’t want you to go 
another summer with your elbows out ! ” 

Oh, I’m ever so much obliged to you, Lis- 
beth; ” I said, but you needn’t have gone to 


II 


A Gumbo Lily. 

that trouble ; seems to me you Ve got enough to 
do without ” But she cut. me short. 

“ Never mind,” she said ! “ I didn’t have any- 
thing else to do this morning. Dinner was 
ready and Pa wasn’t here, so I thought I would 
do this while I waited, see ? ” 

All right, then, thank you,” I said. 

Isn’t there something or other I can do for 
you, before dinner ? ” 

“ N-no,” she answered, kind of slow like; 
“ unless you want to run down to Nance Dole’s 
for me, with that roll of papers there,” tilting 
her head toward a bundle on the window-sill. 

We’re through reading them, and Nance al- 
ways seems so thankful to get them. News- 
papers are scarce in Bender.” 

Another minute, and I was speeding down 
the side-trail to Nance’s. I found her out in 
the corral, coaxing a calf to drink. I followed 
her into the house, and gave her the papers. 

“ Much obliged,” she said, as she tossed 
them on a chair, and turned to drain some fat 
onto a platter, off a pan of bacon, sputtering on 
the stove. Then she spread a cloth over some 
fresh loaves of bread that the flies, thicker than 
snow-flakes in a blizzard, were fast frescoing 
a darker brown. Then she faced about. 

Cornin’ to the dance to-night? ” she asked. 
While her back was turned a tame coyote 
crawled out from under the bed, in a corner of 
the room, licked the grease up clean from the 


12 A Gumbo Lily. 

platter on the stove-hearth, slunk back, and laid 
down again. 

I don’t know, Nance,” I answered, turning' 
away. ‘‘ I’m not much on the dance, you 
know.” 

“Oh! you ain’t, eh? How long since?” 
and she fired a mocking glance at me, as I left 
the house. Nance, though still a young thing, 
had seen about thirty summers, the last ten of 
which had been spent in Bender, and she doubt- 
less recalled the time when Gil Pierson had 
enjoyed the proud distinction of giving the 
girls the fanciest swing, calling off at the same 
time, in the toniest dance-hall in Bender, in 
Bender’s palmiest day. 

But I didn’t care. Lisbeth didn’t go to any 
of those dances, and somehow, I had dropped 
out of it all. It had been many a long day 
since I had danced with the old gang ; it would 
be many a long day before I would dance with 
them again, I told myself, as I vaulted over the 
corral fence with all the springiness of a boy. 

It didn’t seem to me as if I could stop to open 
a gate that day. I felt as though I could jump 
anything I came upon. I noticed Jake Dun- 
ham’s broncho, tied to the fence, as I passed by. 
“ Big Jake must be somewhere about, then,” 
I concluded, “ rode in from his ranch for the 
dance, most like. Well, it’ll sure be a wild af- 
fair, with Jake to head it. And as for Nance, 
it’s precious little reading she’ll do this after- 


13 


A Gumbo Lily. 

noon, or any other, for that matter. In about 
twelve minutes,’' I calculated, “ she’ll be trim- 
ming up those newspapers into fancy fringes 
for her buttery shelves, to show off to-night.” 
Well what does it matter? It pleased Lisbeth 
to send them, and it pleased Nance to get them, 
too, for won’t every woman that sasheys there 
to-night be ready to die with envy when her 
eyes fall on those scalloped shelves? 

I whistled softly to myself as I walked back 
to Brantner’s. Never since my boyhood had 
the old world looked so shining bright. Never 
in all my life had I felt so in tune with every- 
thing. I swung along the grass-grown trail 
in a dream. The sky was cloudless, the air 
soft, warm, caressing. A saucy-looking 
meadow-lark strutted across my path, then 
bobbed out of sight among the milk-weeds. 
The very turtle-doves seemed cooing to me 
from the cottonwoods as I passed. The frag- 
rance of the grass rose to meet me; all the 
joys of all the summers seemed crowded in 
that one day! The fulness of June was in 
my soul, my fingers pressed the pulse of na- 
ture. From my heart was bursting forth the 
very essence of all human happiness. I loved I 
But I didn’t know it, I didn’t know it. 

Once more I started to climb the hill. 
Someone stood talking with Lisbeth, in the 
doorway. Must be Old Joe Connor, I thought. 
Joe Connor was considered a good old dead 


14 


A Gumbo Lily. 


beat of an Irishman. He had always belonged to 
Bender, and was just as much of an individual, 
in his way, as the town marshal or the post- 
master. He was always drunk, except when 
too sick to swallow, but he never went back on 
a friend, and his word was as good as a rich 
man’s bond. He was mightily attached to Lis- 
beth, worshiped her, in fact; not so much be- 
cause he could always rely on her to loan him 
ten cents whenever he went to her, dead broke, 
but because she never asked him what he did 
with it, I think. However, this was not old Joe 
after all, who stood there talking, as I ap- 
proached. I saw now that it was a younger 
man, a recent arrival in Bender, somewhat on 
the dude order, in whom I hadn’t much stock 
from the start, Geoffrey Darnell by name. 
And as I looked at him, standing there by Lis- 
beth, something of a sudden blazed up inside 
me, a fire that I’d never felt till then. And be- 
fore I knew it I had doubled my gait, and was 
walking like mad. Then, all at once I halted, 
faced about, and began slowly to retrace my 
steps, with clinched hands, and burning eyes 
fixed on the ground. “ What has got into 
me?” I questioned. ‘‘Am I angry, jealous, 
because a friendly stranger chances to stop for 
a moment’s chat with the little girl I have liked 
and cared for ? No ; because a fool, a presump- 
tuous fool, has dared to come up here to flirt 
with the woman I love ! ” The truth rushed on 


A Gumbo Lily. 


IS 


me with overwhelming force, and dumbly I 
wondered how I could ever have presumed to 
know anything, feel anything, before this 
hour. I strode on down the street, out of the 
town and away across the prairies, blind with 
pain. “ And so this child,’' I kept saying to 
myself, this baby, I have watched over, and 
looked after, and brought up, almost, has 
done for me this way. Though she’s not to 
blame for it, God knows. She just grew up to 
womanhood, that’s all, a sweet and noble wo- 
manhood, and the rest happened. And after 
all, now that I think of it, it’s not so strange. 
It’s not so strange that I should love her, this 
girl with the heart so full of human kindness, 
with a face white like the lilies, and hair red- 
brown as autumn bunch-grass, and eyes like 
the summer’s sky! It is but natural, right. 
Strange if it had not happened, strange if I had 
not loved her! I will go to her now, I will 
tell her, I will ask her to be my wife.” 

Dinner was over when I reached the house. 
The stranger had gone. Lisbeth was prepar- 
ing to wash the dishes. “ Well,” she cried, as 
I entered, here you are at last, and dinner all 
cold. And don’t you think,” she added with 
an anxious face, father isn’t home yet. I’m 
right worried, Gilbert, for fear he’s sick or hurt, 
down to Jonesville; he took a load of freight 
down there yesterday afternoon, you know, and 
I’m going down to look for him to-morrow, if 


i6 A Gumbo Lily. 

he’s not back by then. Those ponies have run 
away with him again, or something, I know 
it. They’ve got to run away with him just 
so often, and it’s about time now.” 

“ Nonsense,” I broke in, “ your Pa’s all right. 
He’ll show up by night. If he don’t, I’ll ride 
down there with you to-morrow. And I don’t 
care for any dinner, thanks, I — here, let me get 
you some water.” She was swinging the 
empty pail in one hand, and putting on her hat 
with the other. I reached the spring at about 
three bounds. I filled the pail, and then I did 
a foolish thing, a boyish thing. Dropping on 
one knee beside the spring, I pulled off my hat 
and bent my face to the clear water, as though 
about to drink. But I was only watching my 
likeness in the pool. For the first time in my 
life I felt a certain satisfaction in what folks 
had always called my good looks. Kneeling 
there I took account of stock, so to speak : the 
sinewy roundness of throat, set square on 
broad, straight shoulders, the rather firm mouth 
with its sensitive expression, that years of 
“ roughing ” had not made coarse, the heavy^ 
black hair that curled in half rings on the tem- 
ples, and the eyes, brown, deep and tender, my 
mother’s eyes. With a strange new feeling of 
strength, and power, and hope, I sprang to my 
feet, and threw back my shoulders, and drew 
a long breath of joy, because I was a man. 
And just to see if I could do it, I carried the 


A Gumbo Lily. 


17 

brimming pail of water straight to the house, 
on my little finger, and that without spilling a 
drop. 

“ Thank you,’’ Lisbeth said, when I had set 
it on the table beside her, “ You always bring 
it so full, and never grumble about it either. 
Oh, you are a man after my own heart, Gil,” 
with a funny little motherly air, all her own, 
and with that child-like freedom she always 
felt in saying whatever she pleased to me. 

I turned on her, almost fiercely. “ Yes, yes,” 
I cried in a voice that I had never heard before, 
and that must have frightened her. “ You’re 
right there, Lisbeth. You’ve struck it. After 
your own heart, sure, and have been after it a 
good while too, though I’ve never realized it 
myself till now. Lisbeth, child, I love you! I 
want — to love you — may I? And I want an 
answer, an honest answer, and I want it now ! ” 
I stammered. 

The girl’s face went pale. After all she was 
but a child at heart, though she looked the wo- 
man, and no man had ever spoken to her so. 
Among men always, yet she had held herself 
so high and shy-like, that all had been to her 
just respectful friends. And now I dared stand 
there saying such things, looking my love into 
her frightened eyes, “ My answer, Lisbeth,” I 
cried again. She looked up troubled, anxious. 
One hand was pressed to her lips after the man- 
ner of a wounded child ; the other trembled in 
2 


i8 


A Gumbo Lily. 


mine. I dropped it. Lisbeth,” I said 
hoarsely, “ don’t be afraid of me. My God ! 
don’t be afraid of me. I couldn’t stand that! 
And I wouldn’t have told you, if I could have 
helped it. Reckon I’d ought to be killed off for 
letting you know, now, but I had to, child. If 
you only would, if you only could, we’d be mar- 
ried to-morrow, we’d go away, to Denver. 
Your father, too. I’d be ever so good and kind 
to him, and you — I’d love you, Lisbeth.” My 
words strangled me. It seemed as though I 
must take her in my arms. But she raised her 
hand just then. She did not touch me, but it 
seemed, with that one timid gesture, that she 
pushed me miles from her. Stop,” she said. 

“ You mustn’t talk so, Gilbert, my father ” 

Yes, your father,” I broke in; '‘he never 
liked me, I know that.” 

“ He’s never disliked you, no, no. But I 
am nothing but a little girl yet, in his eyes, 
don’t you see, and his only child too, the only 
thing in all the world he’s got to love. And he 
depends on me, altogether, you know that. He 
would never go away with us as you say ; and 
I couldn’t leave him. Then, I am young, too 
young yet, to know what is right, Gilbert. 
You’ll — you’ll not talk this way any more now, 
will you? You’ll let me alone. You’ll let 
me be just the same little girl, your same 
little friend, still, won’t you ? And you — 
you won’t go away?” anxiously. “For 


19 


A Gumbo Lily. 

you’ve been so good to me, Gil. There’s no- 
body else that would have ever done for me 
what you have. And I’m just a lonely, help- 
less little girl, and — you’re a man, Gil.” Her 
head dropped on her breast, tears burst from 
her eyes. 

“ I’m a brute,” I muttered hoarsely, and 
stooping quickly, I just pressed my lips on her 
soft hair once, then I grabbed my hat from a 
chair by the door, and bolted from the house, 
without another word, another glance. 

And then — well, I hardly knew where to go, 
or what to do. It seemed as though the very 
bottom had dropped out of everything. I.ike 
many a better man before me, I tried to drown 
my trouble in excitement. I put in the even- 
ing with the boys; it was Saturday and they 
were all in town. We divided our time be- 
tween the Pearly Gate Saloon and Nance’s, 
where after seven o’clock the dance was on, full 
blast. Everybody seemed glad to see me, to 
welcome me back into the fold again, the black- 
sheep fold, and made it an excuse for extra 
merry-makings that I pretended to appreciate, 
though I felt all the time as though I was smil- 
ing through a skull. Take it all in all, it was 
one of those rare nights in Onabender’s later 
years, when every citizen seemed bent upon 
doing full justice to the town’s fantastic name. 
But along about twelve o’clock, I grew sick of 
the racket, and made a motion to some of the 


20 


A Gumbo Lily. 


boys to strike out for a ride down the river for 
a change, maybe to paint up Oxapolis a bit. 
Didn’t any of us have much love for Oxapolis, 
a rival town. They all fell in without any talk, 
and in five minutes we were off, six or seven of 
us, riding through the streets on the dead jump, 
shooting and shouting as we went. Pure mis- 
chief, poor whisky, or both. Jake Dunham 
led the way past Brantner’s. There was a 
light in Lisbeth’s room upstairs, and as we 
dashed by on the run, I thought I saw her at the 
window. 

'' See, here boys,” I shouted quickly, I’ve 
clean forgot something that ought to be at- 
tended to to-night. I’ve got to turn back, 
straight. You go on, though, and if I can get 
away, why maybe you’ll see me later. So 
long.” And on they went without me. Slowly, 
sick with shame, I rode back to the quiet little 
cabin on the hill, and drew rein near Lisbeth’s 
window, in the shadow of some trees, where I 
could not be seen. A little preliminary quiver 
went through Beaute’s body ; a warning that I 
knew. He was about to whinny after the other 
horses, so I leaned forward in the saddle, and 
pinched his nose and kept him silent. Then 
I listened. I wanted to know whether Brant- 
ner had gotten home or not. Beyond, in the 
corral, I could see some ponies that looked like 
his, still I wanted to make sure. The light was 
out now, but I could hear some one moving about 


21 


A Gumbo Lily. 

inside. And soon a dim white form, slender, 
child-like, knelt at the open window. Lisbeth. 
Could she be looking for her father? No, she 
was gazing after the flying horsemen. I 
thought I heard her sob once, and my heart 
stood still. Then she began to pray. Please, 
God, keep Gilbert safe this night, from wicked- 
ness or death, and forgive me if I sent him into 
harm’s way. Forgive me his sins ! ” Then 
she left the window and all was still asfain. 
For a full minute I sat there stone dumb, frozen 
to my saddle. Then I whispered to myself, 
kind of slow like, “If she hasn’t prayed for 
me, for me, the little white-souled, golden- 
hearted, bud of a lily, growing spotless in the 
gumbo that I have wallowed in.” And I had 
dared to touch her hand ! I had dared ! Sick 
at heart, disgusted with myself, I rode away. 
I had had enough of the night’s festivities, 
enough of that sort of fun to last me till I died. 
I went down to a little boarding-house at the 
edge of town, kept by one of my friends, turned 
my pony into the corral, and myself into an 
empty bunk indoors ; though my host warned 
me that I would probably have to go halves on 
it before morning. He said he thought Bill 
Brantner had got back, all right, so I felt easv 
on that score. But I couldn’t sleep except by 
fits and starts. The noise outside was loud_, 
my thoughts louder. 

About an hour before daylight, Mr. Geoffrey 


22 


A Gumbo Lily. 


Darnell came stumbling in. So he is to be 
my bed-fellow,” I muttered to myself. From 
the first I had tried not to hate this Darnell, 
if he was a dude; every town has to have one, 
I suppose. But after the gall he’d shown talk- 
ing to Lisbeth, that afternoon, I felt as if I 
couldn’t go him somehow ; not in bed with me, 
leastways. But I managed to lie still while he 
crawled in beside me. 

Didn’t know I was to have a slumber 
chum,” he remarked. “ Still, you’re welcome, 
Mr. Pierson. People have to sleep pretty con- 
secutive in this house, Saturday nights, I pre- 
sume. I fancy you didn’t enjoy the dance very 
well without Miss Brantner, eh? But, say, I 
saw her down to the postofhce this afternoon, 
and she seemed to be expecting news from her 
father, but it didn’t come, and she was say- 
ing that if he did not get in by night she was 
going to ride down to Jonesville early to- 
morrow morning, to look for him. Guess she 
thinks she is going alone, but if I can get up 
early enough in the morning, by Jove ! why — 
er — we’ll see,” he drawled with a foolish 
chuckle that made me ache to smother him in 
his pillow. But I held in and said nothing, 
and he went on, '' Oh I had all sorts of fun 
with her, down at the office, don’t you know, 
about a picture hanging on the wall there, the 
Post Mistress’s better but deceased half, I pre- 
sume, all framed in card-board, you know, and 


23 


A Gumbo Lily. 

worked on it with red worsted, the words, 
' Not lost, but gone before.’ I implored Miss 
Lisbeth to tell me what it meant, whether it was 
the kind of a funeral certificate they used out 
West, and so on, but she wouldn’t answer me 
even. A little huffy, I reckon. I’ll make it all 
right with her to-morrow. Say, be sure and 
wake me up the first thing, won’t you ? ” But 
I pretended to be asleep, and pretty soon he 
dozed off. 

At sunrise I got up, slipped quietly out of 
bed, and out of the house, caught my pony, 
and hit the trail for Brantner’s, leaving be- 
hind me a card for Darnell, on which I’d 
written, Not lost, but gone before. Not' 
dead either. Gil Pierson.” I made up my 
mind that I would go with Lisbeth to Jones- 
ville, if she would let me. And if she 
would let me too, I would be to her again 
the same old, trusted friend. I would never 
frighten her again, I would not press her for 
an answer, I would show her that I was still 
a man ! 

No, her father had not got back yet; those 
were some strange ponies I had seen in the 
corral, that had probably strayed in through 
the loose wires of the fence, last night. And 
there by the house stood Lisbeth’s sturdy little 
mustang all saddled and bridled for the trip 
across the hills. I was thankful to be in time. 
I left my pony by hers, and threw myself down 


24 


A Gumbo Lily. 


in the grass to wait till she should come out, 
ready to start. I couldn’t go into the house 
for very shame. I had pulled my slouch hat 
over my eyes, and fell to wondering how the 
good God could put so much of the beast into a 
man, and never expect it to crop out, when 
some one came up behind me. I knew it was 
Lisbeth before I turned. 

Good-morning,” she said, just as cheery as 
though nothing had ever happened. ‘‘ Aren’t 
you coming in to breakfast ? ” Her voice 
sounded sweet and anxious. 

“ No, thanks,” I said, I’m not hungry, Lis- 
beth, honest.” 

But you must eat something,” she insisted. 
‘‘ You must try a cup of coffee, anyhow,” she 
coaxed. “ You don’t look so very well this 
morning, Gilbert. I’m afraid you won’t stand 
the long ride, unless ” 

I jumped to my feet. She smiled brightly. 
That way of saying that I was to go with her, 
put new heart into me, and I followed her into 
the house and drank some coffee, while she got 
into her things, and ran down to Gussie An- 
derson’s to ask her to come and keep house for 
her till we returned. We were soon on our 
way, laughing and talking, about one thing 
and another, both of us glad enough to be back 
on the same old level. I hadn’t said anything 
to her about last night, except that I was aw- 
fully sorry that I had left .her all alone; that 


A Gumbo Lily. 


25 


I thought sure that her father had gotten home. 
And she answered, Oh that was all right. 
I wasn’t afraid of being alone, Gil.” 

“ But you don’t look as if you had slept 
much,” 1 said. “ Worried about your Pa, I 
reckon ? ” 

Yes, some,” she answered, looking down, 
her black lashes brushing cheeks so white, it 
hurt my heart to look at her. 

After leaving the town, our way lay, for a 
rod or two, along a sheer ravine, about a sixty 
foot drop off, a dangerous place, and before we 
got by it, somehow or other the lunch-bag 
dropped from my saddle-horn. I got down 
and picked it up, laughing at Lisbeth’s fear 
that I might fall over the edge and kill myself, 
and it wasn’t until we’d gone on a mile or so 
further that I found I’d left my whip behind, 
where I’d picked up the bag. But we couldn’t 
turn back for a whip, to be sure, with forty odd 
miles ahead of us, so on we went. About 
noon we halted near Frenchman’s Gulch, for 
lunch, with Bender some twenty miles behind. 

Now how was I to know that Geoffrey Dar- 
nell, reaching Lisbeth’s house just after we 
had left and finding us gone, had struck out to 
follow up our trail, in pure deviltry ? I could 
have no idea, to be sure, that the scoundrel had 
sneaked along behind us all the way, keeping 
in the brush, clear to the halting place ; and that 
whik we were down in the Gulch a minute or 


26 


A Gumbo Lily. 


two, looking at the spot where the famous fight 
took place, that gave the gulch its name, he 
would dare to stampede one of our ponies, and 
make off with the other, but that is what he 
did, exactly. Thought it was a smart joke, I 
reckon. And when he got nearly home, about 
to the ravine, the one I was telling you of, still 
leading Beaute, a queer thing happened, that 
isn’t easy to believe, that I wouldn’t hardly be- 
lieve myself, if it hadn’t been that this very 
Darnell, a year or so ago, ’way back in Illinois,, 
got scared of dying of lung fever, and up and 
wrote me the whole confession. 

It seemed that he was riding very slowly 
along the back trail, that afternoon, when hap- 
pening to look up, of a sudden as he neared 
town, he saw old Dutch Van Gerstein, full as 
a tick, staggering along the edge of the cliff 
there, just where it pitches off the steepest, and 
then he saw him make as if to reach over after 
something, a bottle he’d dropped maybe, when 
all at once he lost his footing and went tum- 
bling down, down, out of sight. Darnell rode 
up to where the thing had happened, got off his 
horse and peeped over. Just a motionless mass 
’way down below, among the rocks and bushes, 
that was all. 

Darnell was scared, but as he turned to leave 
the spot, there on the grass he saw a whip, 
picked it up, read my name on the butt, and — 
well, he must have been tremendously jealous. 


27 


A Gumbo Lily. 

tremendously angry at me, for he just naturally 
laid that whip down there again where he 
found it, turned my pony loose to wander 
where he chose, and with a look around to see 
that no one had been a witness, jumped into 
his saddle and rode on into town, as uncon- 
cerned as you please. He knew very well that 
Gerstein’s friends would be up there looking 
for him as soon as he was missed. He had 
heard that whenever old Van was on the verge 
of tremens he’d wander off up to that ravine 
as though he’d lost something there some time. 
And Darnell knew, also, that when they found 
the body they would find the whip and the pony 
near by, and then, well, then the Saints help 
Gil Pierson, that’s all. But he never stayed to 
see how the thing ended, Darnell didn’t; too 
white-livered for that. He left town that 
very night, and never returned. 

When Lisbeth and I reached the level again, 
after five minutes, maybe fifteen minutes, spent 
in examining the gulch below, there wasn’t so 
much as a pony in sight. We were lucky 
enough to rustle up Lisbeth’s little mustang 
after a bit; she was grazing quietly as you 
please, not a hundred yards away. But a 
thorough search up and down, and through 
the surrounding plum thickets, a waste of a 
good hour, brought to light no Beaute. “ He 
has evidently stampeded for home for some un- 
accountable reason. We must make the best 


28 


A Gumbo Lily. 


of it to Jonesville,” I said ; and make the best of 
it we did, Lisbeth riding, I walking by her side, 
though we got over the miles pretty slowly. A 
heavy cloud rolled up in the West, it grew dark 
early, and finally began to rain. At times we 
could hardly keep the trail. I buttoned my 
coat around Lisbeth, and felt proud enough as 
I trudged along, feeling rather than looking, 
for the bad places ahead of us, to think that I 
was actually doing something once more for 
Lisbeth, Little Lisbeth. As for my behavior 
of the night before, I had forgotten, as she had 
forgiven it. It was nearly morning as the 
great butte that stands guard over Jonesville 
broke out of the darkness ahead. 

Well it was an all-night’s job, Lisbeth, but 
we made it, eh? ” I said. “ I only hope that 
you won’t be down sick after it all.” 

“ I only hope you won’t be, Gilbert,” she an- 
swered. I’m all right, but to think that you 
had to walk all those miles ! Aren’t you 
tired? ” For a second I thought her soft hand 
brushed my rough one, as it lay on her pony’s 
neck. And then she went on sort of persuad- 
ing like. We don’t need to say anything about 
this up home, do we? Being all this time on 
the road, I mean? For you know that people 
say such things sometimes, and — and I don'^; 
want to be like some of the girls in Bender. I 
don’t want them to think that I’m like them, 
either. You know folks always say, ' Boys 


29 


A Gumbo Lily. 

will be boys/ and laugh, but nobody was ever 
yet heard to say ‘ Girls will be girls.' It's dif- 
ferent, you know." 

My eyes filled up, my heart beat hard. Hew 
I worshiped her purity of soul that would con- 
done so little in a woman; how I admired her 
generosity of heart that would pardon so 
much in a man. “ Certainly we won't speak of 
it," I answered. “ There’s no need of it, and 
it’s no one's affair, anyhow. Accidents will 
happen, and we’ve done just the best we could, 
and that's the end of it. You can make your 
mind easy on that point, Lisbeth. Roping 
won’t get it out of me." 

“ That’s good, thank you, Gil,” she cried. 

We reached the town then, and in the light 
from the open hotel-door, when we halted, she 
turned to me with a rare, sweet smile, that 
I never have forgotten, a smile of gratitude, 
confidence, appreciation, that I carried back 
with me along the weary miles to Bender ; that 
I shall always carry with me, whatever trail 
I travel, till I die. 

We found Bill Brantner done for, sure 
enough, and it was just as Lisbeth thought. 
The spotted ponies had run with him once too 
often. This time there were internal injuries; 
he was unconscious and no hopes of his ever 
rallying, the horse-doctor they had called in 
said ; there was no regular doctor in Jonesville. 
So I rode back to Bender for Dr. Brown, think- 


30 


A Gumbo Lily. 


ing he might do something, leaving Lisbeth 
with her father, brave, keeping up her 
courage, but ready for the worst. I had a 
fresh horse and it was only a little past five 
o’clock that afternoon when I reached Bender 
and started the good old Doctor off for Jones- 
ville, in a freighting train just pulling out, in- 
tending to follow, myself, just as soon as I had 
gotten a bite to eat. But I never followed. 
Circumstances saw fit to call a halt. When I 
first struck town that afternoon, I noticed some 
kind of a commotion about the “ Pearly Gate,’’ 
but I didn’t think or care anything more about 
it, till a delegation of citizens waited on me 
at half-past five, to say that I was wanted 
badly over at the hall. 

Soon as I got there and saw the crowd I 
knew something was up. I inquired very 
quietly what had struck them all of a heap. 
Nobody seemed anxious to say. Pretty quick 
though, Jake Dunham stepped forward. He 
generally constituted himself spokesman on 
large occasions of this sort. “ You know old 
Dutch Van Gerstein ? ” he began. 

'‘Yes,” I answered. “What’s it to you?” 

“ Hold on,” said Jake. “ Did you threaten to 
do him up one day last week, if he repeated a 
certain remark about a family, here in town?” 

“ Yes, I did, but he didn’t repeat it, and he 
never will,” I answered quickly. There was a 
murmur from the crowd. 


A Gumbo Lily. 


31 


No, I reckon if he ain’t repeated it he never 
will, ’less he does it in another spere, Gil,” 
said one of them. 

“ The fact of it is,” Big Jake continued, 

we have found old Van’s dead corpse at the 
foot of the cliff north of town, last night, and 
on the ledge above, near the road, we found 
your riding-whip, also your pony, Beaute, a 
feedin’ near by. Considerin’ your feelin’s 
toward the dead man, Gil, together with the 
fact that you’d disappeared and never showed 
up till now, why it appears to be the prevalent 
opinion of this hyer crowd, that you jest nat- 
urally — er — accidentally, give old Van the 
push ! ” There was a coarse laugh from va- 
rious pets of Big Jake, that had gathered 
round. For a minute I was dazed. They had 
me cinched. When I did jump to my feet 
there was a curious ring to my voice as I 
shouted : 

This is a sneaking mean job, boys, and you 
know it! I’d like to know what my friends 
are doing, if I’ve got any, to stand by and al- 
low such work as this.” 

“ Well, now, look here,” put in Jake, '' be ye 
willin’ to swar you had nothin’ to do with the 
killin’?” 

“ Yes,” I answered. 

'' Be ye willin’ to state where you was from 
noon yesterday till five o’clock to-day ? ” 

“ No,” I thundered, prompt enough. 


32 


A Gumbo Lily. 


All right, then,” Jake concluded. “ We’ll 
be obliged to keep ye here, Mr. Pierson, till we 
can decide what’s what.” I sprang toward 
him, but four guns leveled at my head forced 
me back into my seat. 

“ You’re a pack of fools and cowards,” I 
cried, “ and you ought to be shoved up for this. 
Down on me now, because I wouldn’t stay by 
you Saturday night, and help you red up Ox- 
apolis. It’s a shame and an outrage, this thing. 
If you know anything at all, you know well 
enough that old Van must have fallen over the 
cliff, drunk, and as to just how and where I 
have chosen to put in the last twenty-four 
hours, that’s none of your business, if I 
must say it, and as for telling you. I’ll swing 
first!” 

The crowd scattered a bit, some of them 
muttering as they went, You’ll swing, then.” 
But I wasn’t much alarmed. My friends ral- 
lied around me, though they were sadly in the 
minority, and practically helpless against Big 
Jake’s gang, who were all rather sour on me 
anyhow. They thought that I’d gotten above 
them, stuck-up, high-toned, they called it, and 
some of them had just been spreeing it long 
enough to want a real good hanging to finish 
up with, regardless. 

My friends, one and all, begged me to own 
up where I’d been and prove my innocence, but 
I refused, flat. They didn’t ask me again. As 


A Gumbo Lily. 33 

old Joe Connor remarked : “ It’s no use boys, 
Gil Pierson’s no is no.” 

All that night I was kept under guard in a 
little room off the bar, with no window except 
a single pane of glass let in the door, outside 
of which two men sat, heeled. 

In the morning I scrawled a line to Lisbeth 
on the back of an old envelope I had in my 
pocket. 

Dear Lisbeth,” I wrote, I couldn’t get 
down to Jonesville yesterday. I can’t very well 
to-day. Certain things prevent, will explain 
when I see you. Hope you have not been wor- 
ried because I did not show up, and I hope your 
father is better. I send you some lilies. You’re 
like them, Lisbeth, you always will be like 
them, w’hite to the heart, and that’s gold. God 
bless you. Gil.” 

Then I asked to see Joe Connor. He came. 

“ Joe,” says I, are you sober? ” 

No,” says Joe, when the door was shut, 
“ I’m drunk, but I can brace up if there is any- 
thing that you want me to do, Pierson,” and 
then and there he straightened himself and 
squared his jaw, till he actually looked the man 
again, the man he had been once, the man he 
had drowned in whisky. 

“ I want you to hunt up my pony, Joe,” I 
said, feed him and water him, first, then ride 
to Jonesville with this note to Lisbeth Brant- 
ner. She’s down there with her father, you 
3 


34 A Gumbo Lily. 

know; he’s sick, dying, maybe. Can you do 
it?” 

'' Can I ? ” he shouted. I will ! ” 

And get back to-night if possible? ” I said. 

Beaute can stand it, I guess. I’m anxious to 
know how Lisbeth and the old man are. I’d 
have been down there myself if it hadn’t been 
for this cursed business. Expected sure to get 
down there to-day, but these everlasting 
chumps haven’t come to their senses yet, and 
no knowing when they will ! By Heaven, I’ll 
get out of this by night, — or — well, so long. 
Joe. There’s the note; don’t lose it and, on 
your life, man, not a word of what’s kept me 
here! She’s got enough to worry her now. 
I’ll look for you to-night, then ? ” 

“ Look for me,” he growled out, you’ll see 
me. 

“ Oh, say,” I called after him in a lower 
tone, as he made for the door, “ will you pick 
a few of those lilies, gumbo lilies, for Lisbeth, 
going down ? You’ll find some along the road, 
I guess. I said I’d send her some.” 

All right,” Joe muttered, as he went out 
and banged the door. 

There’s no saying how I got through that 
day. I counted the long hours. I ate a little, 
smoked a good fleal, and received my friends, 
as they were permitted to see me. They all 
did what they could for me, bless them and 
their honest nerve, but the facts stood hard 


A Gumbo Lily. 


35 


against me since I had nothing to say for my- 
self. The friends of old Van who had never 
done a stroke for him living, now began to be- 
wail him dead. They set up a terrible howl! 
Something had to be done, they claimed. “ Yes, 
Justice must be appeased,” said Dunham, 
though half the people in town believed, spite 
of the evidence, that old Van had killed him- 
self. As for me, I trusted to luck, hoping for 
something to turn up that would give me my 
freedom before another day came around. 
Sundown brought Joe Connor. Lisbeth didn’t 
send any note by him ; her father had died that 
day at noon. The doctor I sent stayed by him 
till the last, but there was no use. Poor Lis- 
beth! 

“ I give her your note,” said Joe, as gruff as 
ever, “ and she read it, and cried a little on it, 
and stuck it in her dress. And she stuck a 
flower in with it, just one of ’em; the rest she 
put in the old man’s hand, a-cryin’ soft like to 
herself, all the time. She said she was sorry 
that you was kept; she’d have liked to had ye 
there. She’s a-lookin’ to see you soon, 
though.” 

“ You — you didn’t say anything to her — 
about?” I began, kind of fierce. Joe turned 
on me like a grizzly. Shut up,” he snapped. 
‘‘ What do you take me for ? Course I didn’t 
— nary word.” 

No, he hadn’t said a word of it to her, the 


A Gumbo Lily. 


36 

honest rascal, but he had stood about three 
feet away from her and remarked to the pony, 
in a loud voice, “ Your Boss is goin’ to be 
strung up to-night, do you know it, Beaute? 
Old Van Gerstein’s went and fell off the bluff 
in a drunken fit, and killed himself, and cos 
Gil’s whip was found a-lyin up above, where 
the old man tumbled, why some of ’em are 
going to do for him pretty quick now, ’less 
something happens, or he chooses to explain in 
a satisfyin’ manner where he was since Sun- 
day noon, and that he’ll never do, cos he’s said 
he won’t. Yes, he’s sure in a bad fix, Beaute. 
He don’t realize it himself, but I do, cos I heard 
some talk, as I left town, o’ lettin’ Justice take 
its course. And that means a rope, and a 
figure swingin’ out under the old lone cotton- 
wood to-night.” 

That’s what he sang out to Beaute, that’s 
how the blessed scamp got around it. But 
he never let on to me, you may be sure. I 
didn’t know anything about it. 

One thing I did know, however, and that 
was that the excitement out in the streets was 
increasing as the night came on. Some of the 
boys were getting ugly. My friends stood by 
me to a man, but they were clear outnum- 
bered. If I’d had a shooting iron of any kind. 
I’d have burst the door, and made a dash for 
it, trusting to luck, and the confusion, and a 
pop shot, right and left, for a chance to get 


A Gumbo Lily. 


37 


clear. But I hadn't a weapon of any sort, and 
no means of getting one, as anybody that came 
in to see me was deprived of his guns till he 
went out again. About dark, I heard Jake 
Dunham bawling out on the street : 

Well, come on hyer, then, you fellows who 
wants to see the end of this. We’ve fooled 
long enough, now, it’s time the thing was 
done.” 

I understood the drunken deviltry in the 
man’s tone and realized that he meant the 
worst. “ But they can’t carry the thing out,” 
I still argued to myself. “ They don’t dare to 
string a man for something he’s never done.” 
And just then there was a tremendous oath 
from Big Jake, a rush and a scuffle on the 
planks outside, and I realized that some sort 
of a row was on. There were cries of “ Fair 
fight ! ” “ Dunham and Connor ! ” Clear 

the walk, there, let ’em have it ! ” 

Springing to the door, I looked through the 
pane. The bar-room was deserted; even my 
two guards had joined the spectators outside. 
With a rush I burst through the door and 
dashed out into the crowd, only to be shoved 
back again by a dozen men. And anyway T 
had come too late to be of any use to Joe. 
They were carrying him in already, limp and 
helpless. Jake had jumped on his chest, they 
said, and crushed it. They laid him on a table. 
I pushed my way through the crowd to where 


A Gumbo Lily. 


38 

he was, slipped an arm under his head, and 
raised him up a bit. 

Stand back there, will you ?” I shouted 
to the mob. “ Can’t you see he’s dying? ” At 
this the majority of them shuffled off with Jake 
for refreshments. Only my two guards re- 
mained near me. “ Joe, Joe,” I cried, as he 
opened his eyes and looked at me, What made 
you, what did you mean by it ? Tackling him ? 
He’s twice your size, the bully, coward, mur- 
derer ! ” 

“ Hush ! ” Joe answered, with an effort. 

Sure, d’ye want to be killed on the spot, you 
and the few friends that ye’ve got ? Go slow, I 
say, if you don’t want to bring on a general 
massacre. Jake’s got too many pals hyer, and 
they’re all down on you, Gil, me boy.” 

Yes, but, Joe, why did you?” I began 
again. 

Oh, I just wanted to gain a little time for 
you, Gil, that’s all. Something had to be done, 
an’ — an’ I done what I could, all I could. And 
it’s just as well for me, too. I always wanted 
to go this way, sudden like. Never wanted to 
— to — flicker out— like a spent candle. Stoop 
a little lower, can’t you? You’ll tell Lisbeth 
Brantner, please, that this wan’t no drunken 
quarrel, this hyer ? ” 

His fading eyes flashed up at me. “I — loved 
her too — Gil Pierson. Dead right I did ; that’s 
why I went away from here last fall, that’s 


39 


A Gumbo Lily. 

why I came back again this spring, God help 
me! iVnd this is the best way it could have 
ended, for 1 wasn’t fit to clean off her pony, 
Gil. Why, she was a billion times more lady- 
like — than — I — ever — could — be. I know — 
it,” he gasped. And so it’s good luck to you 
— ^boy,” he whisptered. “ Reckon — they — 
won’t — do any 'stringing of — you — up — this 
time — leastways.” He smiled, his eyes opened, 
closed. He was dead. 

Strong man that I was, tears filled my eyes ; 
for the moment I forgot my own position as I 
looked on the stiffening form, out of which the 
hero-soul had slipped so quietly, so swiftly, 
forever. 

I made no resistance, a moment later, when, 
at Dunham’s order, my hands were tied behind 
me, and I was escorted to the street. ‘‘If we 
find that they’re meanin’ business,” a friend 
of mine and Joe’s had whispered to me, pre- 
tending to fuss over Joe’s body, “ why. I’ll 
just naturally pick off Jake, and the others’ll 
each single out a man! They won’t find it 
as easy as they think, if they are twenty to 
one.” 

“ Don’t you do it,” I had answered, hurried- 
ly ; “ there’ll be no need. The whole thing is a 
cussed farce. Thley’ll never carry it out. 
What they’re trying to do is to scare me into 
saying where I was that night. They don’t 
know their man, that’s all ! ” 


40 


A Gumbo Lily. 


I put on a cool face as the procession headed 
up the street, making for the lone cottonwood 
at the edge of the town. I was guarded on all 
sides. It was not so very dark, yet. On ahead 
I could see Jake’s huge form carrying a lantern. 
There was a heavy coil of something on his 
shoulder, a rope or a lariat. Not a word from 
any of the men as we tramped along the quiet 
street — no joking, no guying from any one. It 
looked after all as though they might mean 
business. I could not but feel my helplessness ; 
for if Jake Dunham was bent on putting me 
through, he had the power to do it, not a doubt. 
In the same terrible silence we rounded the hill 
by Brantner’s. I thought to myself, this is the 
first time I ever went this trail this way, and 
as I was thinking this, I noticed, a little ahead 
of us, and just below the cabin, a large dark 
object. Could it be? It must be Lisbeth’s 
pony ! As we approached, it gave a tired little 
whinny that I recognized. I caught my 
breath; Fd have stood still in my tracks, but 
for a push, and a “ Move on, there! ” from the 
man behind me. Against the dark bulk of the 
pony I had made out the slight figure of a girl. 
It stepped out into the road. It barred the way. 
It was Lisbeth. 

Stop, you men ! ” she cried out. “ Fve 
something to say' to you.” They halted as one. 

Big Jake started in spite of himself. 

Why, it’s Lisbeth Brantner ! ” he ex- 


A Gumbo Lily. 41 

claimed. Shall we hear what she has to say, 
boys ?” 

“Bet your life!” from the crowd. Not a 
soul there, coyotes that they were, some of 
them, but would have sworn by Lisbeth Brant- 
ner. Her voice, sweet and trembling, broke on 
the stillness, like a voice from the sky. 

“ I just wanted to tell you that the man 
youVe got didn’t kill Van Gerstein, no more 
than I did,” she said. 

“ Well, do you know who did then, — do you 
know who he loaned his whip to ? ” sneered 
Jake. 

“ Never loaned his whip, that I know of. 
He dropped it, Saturday morning, along there 
by the ravine, somewhere,” Lisbeth answered. 

“How do you know?” Jake questioned. 

“ I was with him.” 

“ How long, please? ” 

“ All day, — all night,” she answered. 

“Where?” Big Jake’s voice sounded a 
trifle cracked. 

“ On the road to Jonesville, to find my 
father. One of the ponies got away from us 
up by Frenchman’s Gulch, in the afternoon; a 
storm came up, and with the one pony we 
couldn’t make Jonesville till morning. We 
found my father. He was hurt in a run- 
away. He died to-day.” Her voice ended in 
a sob. 

There was dead silence for a breath, then 


42 


A Gumbo Lily. 


the man behind me, the one that had pushed 
me, uncovered his head. 

‘‘Jake Dunham,” he said, “you can just 
count me out of this thing, right now, and from 
any other doings of your’n henceforward.” 

“ Same here ! ” “ And here ! ” came from 

one after another in the crowd. 

“ The prisoner is released ! ” Dunham made 
haste to say, “ and I ask his pardon right now.’^ 

“ And so do the rest of us,” some one 
shouted. 

One bound and I was at Lisbeth’s side. With 
one bound, too, Jake Dunham made for the 
shadows, caught a stray horse and struck out 
for parts unknown. Some of the boys dashed 
after him, several shots were fired, but he made 
good his escape. Before the year was out, 
however, we heard that he had been caught 
up for some terrible crime, and made to do the 
final trapeze act, 'way down in Arizona. 

“ For a girl like Lisbeth Brantner to stick 
up for a fellow like that, there must be some- 
thing powerful white about him,” remarked the 
man that had taken his hat off. “ Three cheers 
for him an' her ! ” he bellowed. And they were 
given with a will and all the lung-power in the 
crowd. Then we entered the silent house to- 
gether, she and I. Gussie Anderson was there, 
in tears and curl-papers, roused from her first 
nap by the noise outside. She darted back into 
the next room as we entered the front door. 


A Gumbo Lily. 


43 


I couldn’t speak at first, I was choking some - 
how, so I just reached out my arms to Lisbeth. 
She looked so tired and worn, so little and frail, 
as she stood there, and she had been so brave, 
so strong! She was trembling like a leaf, and 
her face was as white ! And the shy, soft, baby 
look about her mouth was gone, never to re- 
turn. But in the great blue brimming eyes, that 
went up and down before my gaze, there was a 
something new, and wonderful, and shining 
bright that I had never seen there before. 

“Well?” I questioned, eagerly, still reach- 
ing out my arms. 

“ Well ? ” she answered, slowly, as she came 
to me, “ you’ve got your answer, Gil.” 


BARBED WIRE. 


There was miles on miles of it, apparently, 
that unsightly, barbed wire fencing. And, as 
I strolled along the road, in the golden glow 
of an October morning, wonderfully exhilar- 
ated by rarest, purest air and sunshine, I never- 
theless found myself protesting, inwardly and 
half unconsciously at first, at the seemingly 
ruthless cutting up and disfigurement of those 
broad sections of prairie land by such ugly 
strands of wire. And barbed at that ! 

“ How shameful ! ” I murmured, musingly ; 

still, I presume it is necessary. To ke^ep in 
cattle, no doubt, or to keep out cattle.^^ And I 
laughed. “ Hum-m ! '' I soliloquized vaguely, 
“ how many such lines of wire, social, legal, 
moral, are stretched along, aye across our life’s 
pathway, mutilating all the landscape. We 
come upon them everywhere. New ones, sharp- 
barbed and threatening; old ones, held firmly 
in place by post and brace and staple and stake 
of creed, conventionality, custom and tradition. 
And all to keep us either in or out, we poor 
human cattle ! ” 

Young, unmarried, wealthy, I was, perhaps, 
too purely a student of men, women and things 
44 


Barbed Wire. 


45 


to have experienced perfect happiness. I was 
as lawless in my way as the veriest freebooter 
that ever rode the plains. Mine was not a calm 
or deliberative nature. I never acted save on 
impulse, and that impulse was usually one of 
self. Not that I did not look upon self-indulg- 
ence as a sin ; I believed that there existed but 
one evil greater — self-repression. 

I had come West to gather material for a 
story. Literature was not a profession with 
me, but an amusement. I had already written 
a little love-story — a novel, in fact — and had 
succeeded in getting it brought out by a well- 
known publisher. 

One-half the critics ignored it altogether. 
One-fourth of those gentlemen called it a nice 
little summer tale, perfectly harmless, and told 
me kindly, hopefully, that I might set for my- 
self a higher standard, etc., while the remain- 
ing one-fourth inquired, plaintively, why I had 
done it. My friends thought it bright and 
clever. Public opinion was diverse, not to say 
adverse. The book did not sell. I started for 
the West, with a view to making up another 
and, I hoped, a better tale. Thus it happened 
that I found myself on that particular morning 
in October walking along a country road in a 
well-settled district in South Dakota, looking 
for a boarding-place, in which I might manage 
to spend two weeks, for in that length of time 
I expected to acquaint myself pretty thorough- 


46 


A Gumbo Lily. 


ly with the country, and the natives thereof, 
their customs, speech, and manners. Still fol- 
lowing the same inartistic, unromantic lane, 
those wires still vibrating upon my sensitive 
and aesthetic nerves, I came presently in sight 
of an old man busily engaged in burning the 
stubble of an adjoining field. An old settler 
evidently. He straightened up and greeted me 
before I was fairly within hailing distance. 
When I had come up to him, I said, “ Good- 
day, sir,'' and asked him forthwith if he could 
recommend to me a boarding-place in that 
vicinity. The man came slowly up to the fence, 
slapped a horny hand upon the wires, deftly 
adjusted the general contour of his face by re- 
arranging two separate cuds of tobacco each 
in its proper jaw, then, having surveyed me 
steadily and silently for several seconds, said : 

“ Well, I d’know, stranger. I’d be mighty 
glad to have ye stop right hyar with us, s’ long 
as ye'd like,” nodding at a little brown house 
just over his left shoulder, “ ef it wasn’t fer 
Mat bein' gone. That's my woman. She’s 
back East now, a-visitin'. Me ’n’ the young 
uns hez ben a-bachin’ it whilst she's gone, 'n' 
the grub ain't nothing extra. I’ve ben off my 
feed fer the last few days myself. Can’t seem 
to stomach nothin' 'cept jest terbacco. Keep 
both sides of my face filled with that, 'cos Mat 
said it wuz spilin’ my looks a-keepin’ one hunk 
constant in one jaw, ye know. But ef ye don’t 


Barbed Wire. 


47 


strike a place thet suits ye, gin the woman gets 

back suggestively. ‘‘ Fm a-goin' ter 

hitch up an’ fetch her in a few days now. How 
fer? O, about fifty miles over hyar in lowy, 
straight east.” 

Here he stopped to expectorate, which gave 
me a chance of saying, quickly, that I thanked 
him very much, but that I presumed I should 
be able to find board elsewhere. He was very 
kind, indeed, but it might inconvenience his 

wife just as she was getting home, and 

Well, say,” he broke in, “ I’ll tell ye what. 
I guess ye can stop at Strandses, that white 
house about half-mile ahead of ye. They’ll 
take ye, I guess. They’ll take ’most anybody. 
They’ll use ye most awful white ! ” 

“ All right,” I replied, “ much obliged. I’ll 
walk on down there then, and see,” and offer- 
ing him a cigar, which he gracefully accepted, 
I strode on my way with a sigh of relief. 

“ Queer character ! ” I muttered. '' Believe 
I’ll put him down as the average Dakotian; 
might as well. He’s about the style that takes 
among Eastern readers. Glad I failed to get 
board with him, though. They fry their beef- 
steak in lard there, I know they do, and pound 
it too. And the children — the children would 
oppress me.” 

Presently a soiled and ragged remnant of 
newspaper fluttering in the grass a few yards 
ahead attracted my attention. Actuated by a 


A Gumbo Lily. 


48 

curiosity which, though usually rather torpid, 
has, nevertheless, passed very few things in its 
time, I picked this up and examined it. The 
county paper evidently. Some of the locals 
were very amusing, some of the names more so. 
The majority of prominent farmers and county 
officials appeared to be Scandinavian. “ Well,” 
I exclaimed, as I came upon one Norse name 
after another, “ one might imagine himself in 
Norway, perusing an American newspaper 
printed there.” And then a quaintly worded 
card of thanks caught my eye. It read : 

We herewith desire to express our deep 
and heartfelt thanks to the many kind friends 
and neighbors who recently assisted us in the 
death of our little son. 

“ Mr. and Mrs. Hockenstenson.” 

How horrible ! I thought, and what a lot of 
assistance it took! I wonder how that would 
strike some of my readers ? I was half resolved 
to save the article itself to show some of the 
boys at home, but on second thought decided 
to work it into a story instead, leaving m^- 
friends and admirers — aye, and the critics 
themselves — to think that I had been so clever 
as to originate the little anecdote, after long 
and careful study of these interesting people. 
And, wrapped in roseate reveries, wherein I 
saw myself treading, triumphant, the sunlit 


Barbed Wire. 


49 


hills of Fame, I walked along with eyes cast 
down, till suddenly aroused from my dream- 
ing by a shrill whistle. It came from a steam 
threshing machine in an adjacent field, and this 
was the third time that I had been startled dur- 
ing my walk. There were four of the great 
black monsters in sight, all puffing and whis- 
tling from time to time. Closing my eyes for 
an instant, to fancy myself back again in some 
great railroad center, I did not perceive, until 
she was almost upon me, a young country girl 
approaching on horseback. She was riding 
sidewise, without a saddle, upon a great, gray 
farm horse, which she urged along by means 
of a stout corn-stalk in her right hand, while 
in her left she held the halter-rope, by which 
she guided the animal. 

A very pretty girl, I noticed at once. Will 
she not think me a little different from anything 
she has ever seen? I wondered. And as she 
passed, I looked, with my most engaging air, 
straight into her eyes of blue, that sparklea with 
mischievous nonchalance down at me. And 
then, just as she had passed me, she dropped 
her riding-whip — her corn-stalk, rather. I 
turned back to pick it up. I could not think it 
an accident. 

“ Never mind, sir,'’ she called out, I do not 
need it." Nevertheless she reined in her horse, 
and as I handed her the corn-stalk, she smiled 
and thanked me with quite the same well-bred 

4 


5o 


A Gumbo Lil}^ 


air that I would have expected from some 
bridle-path belle of Central Park. 

But I could not let well enough alone. In 
passing her the stalk, I allowed my fingers to 
linger on it a little longer than was necessary, 
and in dropping my hand I barely brushed her 
soft, plump fingers with my own. It was only a 
little thing, and it might have been wholly in- 
advertent. Only, she knew that it was not. 
She did not laugh, however, or grow red in the 
face, or embarrassed, or do any of those things, 
in fact, that I had made sure that she would. 
But her eyes, that I suddenly discovered were 
black instead of blue, flashed out at me. And 
so did her stout corn-stalk, the end of which 
just grazed the tip of my aristocratic nose, and 
sent my high silk hat spinning off into the grass 
a dozen yards away. And the girl’s soft 
laughter came floating back to me as she gal- 
loped on up the road. 

'' Well,” I exclaimed, as I replaced my hat, 

rather neatly done, I must say. No fool 
she ! ” And then again I bethought me of my 
notebook, but presently concluded to make a 
mental note of that little occurrence for my 
own especial benefit. 

Yet why should she have looked at me in 
that way? ” I speculated. ‘‘ Young, I presume, 
and too unconsciously innocent, too — consum- 
mately good ! ” There’s no doubt about it. 
Innocence should sometimes disguise itself, else 


Barbed Wire. 


51 


it seemeth guilt.” I moralized aloud, cut- 
ting at some dry rosin weeds with my cane as 
I passed. 

Following in the wake of the girl on horse- 
back came a rustic group from some Old 
World peasant land, a foreign-looking woman 
trudging along with a heavy bundle of clothes, 
while two little white-haired, white-faced chil- 
dren clung to her skirts and peeped out at me 
in fright. 

“ Oh, don’t be afraid, shildren,” she said. 

De gent’man not vant hurt you ; ” and she 
smiled at me as though to reassure the babes. 
Involuntarily I raised my hat. Something, I 
know not what, impelled me. The woman’s 
brown, work-hardened hands, her sweet face 
appealed to me strangely, irresistibly. 

At length I reached the home of the Strands, 
a neat white cottage built in modern style. It 
nestled with a deprecatory air against a soft 
background of small trees and bushes, a wild 
tangle carefully tended, for trees are precious 
in Dakota. As I waited at the door I fell to 
pondering upon the many strange ideas of the 
West that I had brought with me from the East 
and the rapidity with which some of those 
ideas were being dispelled. 

A Swedish girl soon ushered me into the 
parlor, or sitting-room, with the words: 

Seet you down ; de meester is out. I tell 
him he coom in, yah.” 


52 


A Gumbo Lily. 


There’s one study for me,” I said to my- 
self, as she disappeared. I hope the other in- 
mates will be pleased to look, or do, or say, 
something that will sound well, or at least 
new, in print.” 

I looked about me. The little room, in its 
every appointment, breathed the very essence of 
culture and refinement. An open piano in one 
corner was littered with the popular music of 
the day. On a table near me I noticed the 
morning paper, a Sioux City daily, also some 
late magazines, a paper knife, a dainty bowl of 
autumn flowers and a lady’s glove of undressed 
kid, long and shapely and scented. Some very 
creditable paintings in oil and water colors on 
the wall and upon easels caught my eye. Rich 
hangings of lace and chenille draped the plate- 
glass windows. 

“ Humph ! ” was my inward exclamation ; 
“ except for that elegant rifle in the corner and 
those antlers over the door, I might safely have 
remained in New York City to write up a de- 
scription of the interior of a South Dakota 
dwelling.” 

My speculations were cut short by the sudden 
appearance of an old and very sedate-looking 
dog, of the pointer breed, who pattered in at 
the open door, and on seeing me paused, re- 
garded me gravely for several seconds, and 
then, as though partially satisfied, walked on in 
dignified silence to a much-worn easy chair by 


Barbed Wire. 


S3 


the window, and with a quiet air of proprietor- 
ship, curled himself up thereon, dropped his 
head upon his forepaws and blinked at me with 
strange eyes. 

A quick, firm tread, as regular as the beat of 
a trip-hammer, sounded along the hall, and in 
another instant my hand was being crushed in a 
hearty, whole-souled Western grasp, and I 
stood looking into the strong and handsome 
face of my host. 

The man seemed as genuinely glad to see me 
as though I had been a lifelong friend of his 
and he had sent me word that morning to call 
and spend the day. Introductions were quickly 
effected, and then a general conversation en- 
sued in which I learned that Charles Strand was 
a product of the West. Reared, educated, and 
married in Dakota, he was now fast making his 
fortune in the same blest country. A prosper- 
ous merchant in the booming little town of 

B , three miles away, he preferred residing 

on his farm and riding to and from his place of 
business every day. His wife was out driving, 
would be in presently, he informed me. He was 
very sure that she would be as glad as he to 
accommodate me for a week or two. It would 
be very pleasant. They needed more company, 
etc. 

No, not as a boarder — please ! ” he inter- 
posed, as I was about to speak. “ I have 
never taken boarders; no I I — I very often 


54 


A Gumbo Lily. 


have people stop with me, — strangers, too, — 
but I have never yet taken anything for the 
tendering of a little hospitality that has been to 
me a pleasure. Even in the early days, twenty 
years ago, when I first pre-empted here, and 
lived in a sod shanty, seven by nine, ate hard- 
tack and muskrat and hadn’t a dollar to my 
name, I never turned away an Indian or a dog, 
or took a cent from any one. It’s about all 
the creed I possess, to tell the truth,” a trifle 
shamefacedly, “ so you will have to humor 
me, I guess. The fact is, to come right down to 
it, I like you, Mr. Vanderruhing, and I trust 
that you will remain here as my guest as long 
as you are in the country.” 

This surprised me very much, as I had ex- 
pected to find at the Strands’ some sort of a 
hostelry, from the information afforded me by 
the old settler up the road. I at once informed 
Mr. Strand of what had brought me to Da- 
kota, and presently we found ourselves con- 
versing freely of the West, its various resources, 
future prospects, etc. Incidentally my host in- 
quired what I thought of prohibition. Smiling, 
I replied that I had never thought of it at all. 
Whereupon he rose impulsively and shook 
hands with me over again. And we were 
friends. Still talking, he proceeded to a 
little alcove at one end of the apartment, 
from whence he produced a decanter and 
glasses, which he placed on the table between 


Barbed Wire. 


55 


us, together with some choice cigars, all 
of which I appreciated very much. Then Mr. 
Strand announced that he believed that he 
would not go in to business that morning, but 
would take a day off in my honor. So we 
settled ourselves for a good smoke, our sudden- 
born friendship on a surer footing, a firmer 
basis, now. I could read my companion as an 
open book. I realized that in him I had met a 
man who would dare more for others than I 
would for myself, which was saying much. He 
was a typical Westerner. Verily I believe that 
no crime was greater in his eyes than that of 
being green,” or behind the times. He was 
the man who would prefer death at the stake to 
being considered non-progressive, the man who 
would rather create a precedent than an empire. 

Do you know,” he said, as we drained our 
glasses, that if St. John, the prohibitionist, 
had been just a little bit more of a rustler, he 
might have become the patron saint of our 
country, just as St. Patrick is of Ireland?” 

“ Ah, yes,’” I cried, by driving out all the 
snakes, eh ? ” And we both laughed. 

Wreathing ourselves in cigar smoke, we con- 
tinued to converse in careless fashion, and un- 
measured phrase, at our ease. 

Why, this is Bohemia,” I murmured. 

A short half-hour had passed when the neigh 
of a home-coming horse was heard in the road 
outside, 


56 


A Gumbo Lily. 


“ My wife!’' exclaimed my host, and excus- 
ing himself he hurried, with an eagerness al- 
most lover-like, to assist the lady from the 
phaeton. 

‘‘ And he tells me that they have been mar- 
ried a year,” I marveled. But when she had 
entered I thought : ‘‘ Small wonder he is still 

the lover,” for she was very fair. So far as 
her costume was concerned, she did not differ 
from other women that I ' had known. The 
stylish jacket, well-fitted bell-skirt, and the rak- 
ish-looking hat and veil were as I would have 
found them among the promenading dames of 
fashion on Fourteenth Street or Broadway. 
And her manner would have rivaled theirs. 
But her face. Ah! that was different from 
any I had ever seen before. It wore that rare 
and wonderful look of fearless innocence that 
is so enchanting to the average man. A look, 
that says, “ I know little of men.” A beauti- 
ful woman, a good woman, Viola Strand! 

She was quick to add her welcome to that 
of her husband, and, with her ready woman’s 
tact, soon made me feel myself a member of 
the family. Dinner was presently announced. 
During the meal the conversation might have 
indicated that we had known each other for 
years, so much had we in common. Husband 
and wife were much interested in my work, as 
they chose to call it, and each vied with the 
other in furnishing me the various legends of 


Barbed Wire. 


57 

the valley, hunting adventure, and Indian tales 
without end. 

That afternoon fresh newspapers and mag- 
azines were brought from the post-office, and 
together we pored over and discussed the top- 
ics of the day. Finally the conversation 
turned upon writers of fiction, and before I 
knew it, Charles Strand had launched forth 
into an exposition of realism so called. The 
realism of this one was pessimism, he said; of 
that one, eroticism ; and of the other, petty de- 
tailism, no more, no less. And I was just be- 
ginning to wonder whether by some dire 
chance I had not stumbled intp a certain lit- 
erary club in our “ Modern Athens,” when 
Mrs. Strand created a diversion by asking as- 
sistance upon a more than usually difficult 
funny anecdote in the back part of a maga- 
zine. Our united efforts failed to produce the 
point, and all serious literary discussion was 
over for the evening. 

The next day, and every day thereafter, ex- • 
cept Sunday, Mr. Strand was obliged to absent 
himself from home. This he very much re- 
gretted, saying, however, that he ‘‘ would 
make it up evenings.” And, in truth, the 
evenings were pleasant. The days, though, 
did not drag. Viola Strand made a charming 
hostess. She was an extremely interesting 
talker, and, what was more to me, a man, an 
extremely interested listener. I found her, 


58 


A Gumbo Lily. 


though highly educated and well-read, yet ever 
eager for fresh knowledge. It was very pleas- 
ant. I had not thought to be pleased so easily 
and with so simple an existence. Each day I 
determined to write a great deal, of course, and 
would steal away from the house for that pur- 
pose, note-book in hand, thinking to accom- 
plish a litttle word-painting on the surround- 
ing scenery; but it occurred to me very sud- 
denly and decidedly that the scenery could be 
described in just one word, — flat. And pres- 
ently I would find myself wandering back to 
the house again, in one hand my note-book, in 
the other a spray of late goldenrod for Mrs. 
Strand. She had expressed a fondness for 
goldenrod. She was very good to me. Some- 
times on pleasant afternoons she would take 
little walks with me, for the purpose of point- 
ing out and explaining, for my benefit, the dif- 
ferent points of interest in the valley round 
about. And the hunting-dog went with us, 
always at our heels, his eyes on me. So that 
in time I came to have a horror of that old 
grave-eyed hunting-dog. I felt sometimes as 
if he were my very conscience following me 
about, and would thus forever haunt my foot- 
steps. For I had a conscience then, though 
that was about the first time I had ever known 
it so to exercise itself. 

The days danced themselves away. I re- 
member one delightfully hazy Sabbath eve; 


Barbed Wire. 


59 


Strand and I had stretched ourselves beneath 
the trees by the house for an after-supper 
smoke and chat. We waxed confidential. In 
the course of conversation, and apropos of 
something we had been discussing, 1 asked 
him a question. 

For instance. Strand,” I said, “ what would 
you do if you found some other fellow just a 
little too attentive to your wife ? ” While we 
had been talking I had nervously plucked all 
the frost-killed sunflower blossoms about us 
and heaped them in a little pile at my elbow, 
and with these I played carelessly as he replied : 

“What would I do?” slowly; “why, I 
would knock the fellow flat.” 

“ Ah ! no doubt you would wish to do so, my 
friend. But you could not. Your wife’s 
name would figure in the police court, — 
and ” 

“ No — no — no ! ” he said. “ I would knock 
the fellow down, I say, and then swear that he 
had called me liar. See ? ” 

“ I see,” I said. And just then Viola Strand 
came tripping toward us from the house, a 
newspaper in her hand. 

“ Pray what are you looking so blue about, 
you two ? ” she asked. “ I’ve something here to 
read to you, — the most exquisite little thing,” — 
and pausing before us, she read with much ex- 
pression some lines from the paper in her hand. 
A passage from Ruskin, I was sure^ and truly 


6o 


A Gumbo Lily. 


exquisite. We fairly held our breath as she 
read. I was just hoping that she would give 
me the chance of naming the author, when the 
piece ended in an advertisement for a certain 
brand of soap. Strand and I looked at each 
other, and then with one howl fell to pelting 
the fair miscreant with the sunflowers before 
us. 

Amid a regular fusilade she darted to the 
house, the golden missiles falling all about her 
in the dusk like a shower of shooting stars. 
Strand soon followed her indoors, while I, with 
a faint “ three is a crowd ” feeling, pleaded 
restlessness and went for a long walk. Night 
had fallen when I returned. A great white 
belt of haze girdled the horizon, while directly 
overhead the sky shone clear, a pale blue disk 
with a slip of a moon and a sprinkling of stars 
upon it. It made me think of the blue-gilt- 
splotched plate upon which Mrs. Strand had 
given me a golden slice of musk-melon that 
very afternoon. I seemed to see her every- 
where, in everything. Was I going mad? 

Two fleeting weeks of happiness elapsed. 
Mr. Strand was still the kindly, generous en- 
tertainer, Mrs. Strand still growing to my mind 
more and more unlike any woman I had ever 
known, more and more like the woman I had 
longed to know, when one morning I awoke 
from slumber that had been one long dream- 
ing, such as had never come to me before. 


Barbed Wire. 


6i 


sleeping or awake. And I asked myself, What 
has happened to me? This existence is grow- 
ing far too pleasant, far too sweet. The 
cause ? ” I demanded in grim self-analysis. 
In every thought, in every breath, in every 
heart-beat, one answer, — “ Viola Strand.” 
Yes, it was truth. I, Prescott Vanderruhing, 
had come at last upon that sweet trouble into 
which Cupid, blinded though he be, has aye 
contrived to lead the sons of men. “ What is 
to be done ? ” again I queried. “ Go away at 
once ! ” urged the man within me. “ Stay and 
see what she thinks about it,” urged the devil 
within me. As usual the latter found in me 
an obedient servant. And why not ? ” I ar- 
gued. Here is the only woman that has ever 
had the power to move my heart, or affect my 
life in the slightest; the only woman I have 
ever loved. God help me! the only woman I 
shall ever love. I know it I And must I leave 
her? Not if she will let me stay.” I went 
down to breakfast. I found her gone. 

Sulmina,” I said to the effervescing Swede 
who gave me my coffee, where is your mis- 
tress ? ” 

Oh, she gone vay. Not be home tell dess 
after- forenoons.” 

Ah ! ” I said ; “ and Mr. Strand? ” 

He gone town. He seeck dess mornin', 
too. He take von bathe last night, make him 
seeck. De missis she say to him, ‘ Now not 


62 


A Gumbo Lily. 


yon go town too-day, Sholly dearlin’,’ but he 
go shust all de same.” 

“ Humph ! ” I smiled sardonically ; he took 
a bath, did he? Well, I declare I should 
think he would have known better than that.” 
Sulmina smiled at me a little dubiously for a 
moment, then said very gravely: 

‘‘ Me tank so, too.” 

I was filled with a divided impulse. 
Whether to toss the sugar-bowl or a silver dol- 
lar at her head, I did not know. Finally I left 
the coin with her and fled the room, glad to 
escape her gaping eyes. All day I waited in 
wild impatience for Viola Strand’s return. 
Perchance if I had found her at home going 
quietly about her household duties, I might 
have been able to quell somewhat the turbu- 
lence of my heart, but every moment she was 
away, out of my sight, my reach, the fierce 
longing within me grew and grew, till I felt I 
could never master it. I strove to write. The 
effort mocked me. What I had been learning 
those days had written itself upon my heart, 
in letters of fire eternal. 

It was toward evening when she came. 
As kindly gracious as ever, she asked me with 
sweet interest how I had spent the day. I re- 
plied with one of the thousand conventional 
lies that have ever found their happiest abode 
upon my tongue’s tip. Then I told her that 


Barbed Wire. 63 

I was ennuied from staying long indoors, and 
would she take a litttle walk with me? 

'' Why, isn’t it rather late ? ” she asked. ‘‘ I 
have already spent the greater part of the day 
out of doors.” 

“ Oh, but just for a little while,” I urged. 
“ Come ; ” and I reached for my hat. She 
picked up a soft white fluffy thing from the 
back of a chair, and tied it on her head. The 
woman who does not look beautiful with the 
white thing on her head is indeed hopelessly 
homely. 

Well, we might go for just a few minutes, 
then,” she said. 

My heart almost opened with relief and joy. 
For I wanted to get away from the house, 
away from the sight of Strand’s photograph 
on the wall, his gun in the corner, and most 
of all from the old dog in the chair, who lay 
there watchful and alert, looking first at Viola, 
then at me, a solemn questioning in his eyes. 
Yes, I must get away from all that reminded 
me of Charles Strand, I thought — away from 
the sight of all his possessions, save one, just 
one. And he was such a grand, good man, 
this Charles .Strand. And I liked him too. 
But that was my misfortune. The dog 
hopped down from the chair and walked per- 
functorily after us as we made for the door. 
But I was very adroit. As Viola passed out 
before me, I stepped quickly after her, and clos- 


64 


A Gumbo Lily. 


ing the door instantly behind me, left the dog 
within. He gave one wail of disappointment, 
sorrow, dread, and then appeared at the win- 
dow, fairly trembling with emotion, his fore- 
feet on the sill, his ears pricked forward, and 
his great grieved eyes watching our departure. 

“ said Viola, with the soft heart, “ did 
old doggie want to come too?” 

“ Yes,” I said, laughing, “ old doggie wants 
to come too, but never mind.” And we 
walked on, I swinging into step beside her, 
feeling vaguely that I was nearing heaven, 
somehow. Or was it the other place? 

A golden day,” I said to her. 

“ O, a golden day,” she answered. “ Such 
days as this make one good, don’t you think 
so? There is no room left for evil in our 
hearts. They are filled with the joy of living 
— just crowded with happiness.” 

“ Yes, just crowded,” I said, smiling down 
into her face that beamed with such a marvel- 
ous light. She was radiant, her beauty greater 
even than I had ever dared to realize. Her 
skin was of that smooth ivory creaminess that 
gleamed in sunlight. Upon her cheeks, just 
beneath the skin, and showing pinkly through, 
were bits of torn wild-rose leaves. On rare 
occasions these bright fragments would strug- 
gle to the surface and lie there, for a moment, 
trembling and glowing. Her eyes one felt 
must be blue, but they were not. They shone 


Barbed Wire. 


65 

a pale soft brown, with midnight depths in 
them, if one looked close. Her hair, that gave 
out golden glints here and there, was in reality 
of a dusky brownness. 

I thought of the many women I had known 
— of the many beautiful women I had known. 
For fair, frail femininity had ever been my 
strongest — weakness. Filed away in one cor- 
ner of my mind, among other memorabilia of 
the past, was a picture, a brain vision, of a 
girl-face that had once seemed very fair to me, 
in my young lovetime — the face of one who 
had cared much for me. And I — I had cared 
for her too. But I went away on a long trip 
somewhere then. Why, I did not know at the 
time. But now I knew. It was fate, a happy 
fate, that had reserved me for Viola Strand. 
She must be mine. She was made for me. It 
had been so planned from the beginning. I 
felt that our natures were in perfect accord that 
day, our souls in unison. It seemed to me that 
we were walking in time to music, we kept such 
perfect step. I wondered once if she did not 
breathe when I did, if her heart did not throb 
with mine. O, I was mad, delirious. And I 
did not intend that this should be a little walk. 
Ah no! We would walk on, and on, and on, 
until 

We conversed happily and easily upon 
United States health statistics, etc., topics that 
neither of us knew anything about, till pres- 
S 


66 


A Gumbo Lily. 


ently she spoke of her husband and his sudden 
attack of rheumatism that morning. 

“ O, Mr. Vanderruhing,” she said, looking 
up at me in one of those little outbursts I 
thought so charming. “ don’t you think that 
Charlie is one of the best men that ever lived ? ” 

“ Yes,” I answered. I think so — I know 
so.” And then there was silence for a little. 
I fell to thinking of my fortunate stay in this 
spot, of the many new and different impres- 
sions I had received. I looked about me, at the 
softly outlined hills, the glowing skies, the 
sunny valley; then I glanced at the beautiful 
face and form beside me. “ ’Tis Arcady ! ” I 
thought. Far down in the slough toward the 
river a hawk diving in the high swale grass 
for prey, wing-weary, rested for a moment 
with wings outspread, floating on the south 
wind. In absolute quiet we walked on, 
through the red frost-killed grass, the dead 
asters here and there smiling a ghastly greet- 
ing as we passed. 

Presently we came to a fence, the inevitable 
barbed-wire fence. Here my companion 
paused, looked up, and said: 

“Well?” 

The old dog now appeared, having escaped 
from the house in some way, and squatted on 
his haunches before us, he looked at me, a 
mute repetition of his mistress’s interrogation 
in his uplifted eyes. 


Barbed Wire. 


67 


No, no,’’ I cried in haste. We are not 
to turn back yet, surely? The evening is too 
beautiful to spend indoors. Let us go on ! Let 
us go on to the river.” I had thought all the 
time that we would go on to the river. She 
might object at first, but I could persuade her, 
— a woman. 

To the river ! ” she cried. That would 
indeed be a pleasant walk, but it is really too 
late this evening. See, the sun is almost down. 
Some other day, perhaps.” I stopped her with 
an impatient gesture. 

“ There will be no other day,” I would have 
said, but I checked myself with an effort. 
‘‘ Please let us go this evening,” I insisted. 

You tease like a small spoiled child,” she 
said, smiling at me in that calm, benignant 
manner my mother might have worn. Did 
she think, just because she was married, that 
she was several years older than I? 

'' Listen,” she said, quite seriously. It is 
just a mile and a half from here to the river, 
bee-line, and we would have to go around by 
the gate.” 

“ No; we could get through the fence right 
here — see?” and I stretched the wires apart. 
She shook her head. 

I don’t like getting through wires,” she 

said. 

“ I do,” I returned, slowly, looking straight 
away at the opposite bluff, as though the two 


68 


A Gumbo Lily. 


words I littered were written on the horizon, 
and I was obliged to read them off. 

“And then,'' she went on, “ after we had 
gotten through this fence, we would come 
upon others further on. O no, we couldn't 
think of going down there this evening," as 
though to some third person, who had been 
urging the matter. “ It is nearly dark now, 
and Charles will soon be home. We had bet- 
ter be going in now. Don’t you think so ? " 
And she turned her face toward me in the sun- 
set light, a face that glowed with purity, holi- 
ness, truth. My gaze was fixed upon the 
ground. I could not offend her with my eyes. 
I said softly: 

“ No ; I think we had better go to the river." 

For a moment silence. The great red sun, 
perched upon the rim of the bluff paused for 
an instant before dipping out of sight, to see 
what the outcome would be. But presently he 
concluded: “Of what use? I have seen all 
of this many times before, and I know so well 
how it will end so he hid his face behind the 
hill, and the sky blushed. 

I looked at Viola; she only laughed. A lit- 
tle soft ripple of a laugh, that in some women 
I have known would have indicated pride of 
conquest, ridicule; in others a weak relenting, 
and in others still — slangy Hn de sikle dames 
— it would have said, “ Do you think I'm 
afraid of the cars? Come on." But from 


Barbed Wire. 


69 


Viola Strand I knew that it conveyed but one 
meaning, — just a hearty, wholesome amuse- 
ment at what she considered my more than 
childish persistency. 

An almost irresistible impulse seized upon 
me, then and there, to catch her in my arms and 
end it all forever, when a little thing hap- 
pened — the little thing that is always happen- 
ing just in time to settle a great thing, once 
and for all. The passing breeeze had blown 
one sash end of the dainty dress she wore 
against the fence, and in moving she had torn 
it on the barbs. 

O ! ” she cried, “ I have torn my dress. 
See? And Charlie’s favorite gown too! 
Come, we will go to the house and I will mend 
it, eh ? ” This in a confiding little manner all 
her own. Her words sank into my heart. 

‘‘ Yes,” I said somewhat sententiously, “ a 
dress can be mended ; ” and we turned our faces 
homeward. 

“ But fabric like this is not fit to take near 
barbed wires, is it ? ” she said. 

“ No,” I answered. ‘‘ It is too beautiful, 
too spotless, too delicate a thing.” 

‘‘ You are right,” she said, fussily tucking 
the torn sash under her belt. 

‘‘ There now,” I said, '' the rent will never 
be noticed.” 

“ No,” she replied, “ but I shall always 
know that it is there, — even after I have 
mended it,” wistfully. 


70 


A Gumbo Lily. 


SonVething tightened up within me, then 
suddenly snapped asunder. Was it a latent 
germ of manhood, bursting the chrysalis of 
self? 

How strong and safe she is, I thought, and 
how she would despise me if she knew! Had 
I ever been anything of a man in all my life? 
I wondered. If so, were this not a fitting 
time and place in which to demonstrate it ? 

“Well, at any rate we’ll not try getting 
through any fences this evening, will we?” I 
said, as we walked on toward the house. 
“ Fences were not made to climb through, any- 
how,” I moralized. “ What a blessing it 
would be if we all knew this I There are so 
many fences in this world.” 

“ Yes,” she said. 

“ And all more or less barbed,” I went onj 
“ and we may as well respect them, for some 
there are that we may neither crawl through 
nor overleap.” 

“ Yes,” said Viola. 

O, how different was our return to the house 
from our outgoing but a short half-hour be- 
fore! My feet dragged, my heart was lead. 
All the world seemed chill, and gray, and 
drear. I dare not look at my companion for 
fear my new and sudden-born strength might 
vanish. God ! it was hard. I thought, “ How 
strange that to be good one must walk through 
hell!” We reached the house. With a mel- 


Barbed Wire. 


71 

ancholy sniff of relief, the old dog followed us 
through the door. I threw myself down on the 
lounge, strangely fatigued. Viola found needle 
and thread. With a few deft stitches she soon 
made whole the injured sash. Then she ex- 
cused herself from the room for a moment, 
saying she wished to see if Charlie was coming. 
Yes, he was coming; I heard his step on the 
porch. Then I heard her run out to meet him. 

You never forget, do you, darling?’^ he 
cried in his loud, cheery voice. 

“ I never have, and I never will,” she re- 
plied. 

And then I knew or rather felt that they 
kissed each other. And I thought, why should 
those two think of another world? Their 
heaven is here! 

That night I left them. Both seemed very 
much surprised and sorry, nay, hurt, that I 
should go. I pretended that I had al- 
ready overstayed my time, mentioning busi- 
ness necessities' in the East, and assuring them, 
that though I fain would prolong indefinitely a 
visit so enjoyable, I felt it my duty to go. 
There was a train East that night, so, after 
supper, I made my preparations for departure. 
We were all standing in the little parlor, and 
I, loath to say adieu, was fumbling in my 
pocket for a pair of gloves that I knew I had 
left up-stairs, when suddenly a spluttering 
noise attracted our attention. All eyes turned 


72 


A Gumbo Lily. 


to a table whereon a lamp was puffing out flame 
and smoke, plainly on the point of exploding. 
It was one of these great glass-globed, highly 
ornamental lamps, and inside the bowl I could 
see the oil churning that milky hue which pre- 
sages immediate explosion. 

“ Don’t go near it, Charles ! It’s going to 
burst ! ” 

Viola Strand’s face was very white. She 
held her husband by the arm. Her one fear 
was for him. He made a movement toward 
the lamp. The fiend of self within me woke 
and whispered, “ Let him go ! He has the 
rheumatism. It will reach his heart some day ; 
his life is not worth much. Let him take the 
lamp ! ” But some new strange power, rising 
in my heart, crushed of a sudden this clamor- 
ing fiend, and in another second I had darted 
in between Strand and the table, seized the 
lamp, and bounding through the front door, 
flung it from me with all my might. As it 
left my hand it burst with a crash. But no 
harm was done, only a burning splash or tw^o 
upon my face and hands. 

Mr. and Mrs. Strand were all praise and 
sympathy and thanks. I must not think of 
going away now. But I told them I must 
nevertheless. As I made my adieus, I read in 
Charles Strand’s open countenance his thought : 
“ Rare good fellows, these litterateurs, and 
brave, but very eccentric, — you can’t count on 


Barbed Wire. 


73 


holding them long.’^ In his wife’s face only 
a sweet bewilderment and gratitude, with a 
kindly regret for my departure. I thanked 
my host for all his kindness which I should 
never forget. I held my hostess’ hand for one 
brief moment in polite farewell. I told her 
that I could never thank her for all she had 
done for me, and my voice trembled. She 
looked after me in mute wonderment as I went. 

Mayhap she is wondering at me still. And 
I — I wonder at myself. Viola Strand! Even 
now my love for her is my religion, my mem- 
ory of her a shrine at which I kneel I 


ONE OF THE COLONY. 

‘‘ Cock both barrels now, and look sharp, 
Nev! Dash has struck the main covey, I 
think. See how rigid he stands?— I can 
hardly push him along, and his old tail is as 
stiff as a ramrod ! '' 

It was almost sun et of an August evening 
and Judge Anderson and his young son, shot- 
guns in hand, were moving cautiously over a 
strip of wheat stubble, in the wake of a well- 
trained pointer, whose actions said very 
plainly, ** Chickens here ! And suddenly, up 
from under his very nose, with a swift whirr- 
ing of wings, rose a number of half-grown 
prairie chickens. 

Four shots crashed out in quick succession. 
The boy brought down two birds, the Judge 
but one. 

Got both yours, didn't you, Nev? Pretty 
good shooting, that, for a ten-year-old.” 

The Judge was very proud of his only son, 
the happy companion of all his drives and hunt- 
ing trips. 

As they picked up the dead chickens and 
turned to where their horse and buggy stood, 
by the roadside, they saw that a lady had 
74 


One of the Colony. 


75 


driven np in a phaeton, and was awaiting their 
approach — a lady whose slight girlish figure 
leaned eagerly forward in the vehicle, and 
whose face lightened with a smile, the slow 
hesitating tremulous smile of the woman who, 
having lived and suffered, has finally loved. 

Ah, Judge Anderson, I have caught you 
breaking the laws of the State! Now I have 
you in my power,” she said gaily, as he pre- 
sented himself at the side of the phaeton, his 
rugged countenance flushing with pleasure. 

“In your power? Nothing new, madam,” 
he was about to declare, but the presence of 
his son checked the retort courteous which had 
risen to his lips. So he looked into her eyes 
for an earnest instant. And her eyes fell. 

“ Have you had a pleasant drive ? ” he asked. 

“ Very, — I’ve only been down the river a 
few miles, to Mrs. Hanson’s. I go every day, 
you know, to do what I can for her ; she is very 
ill.” 

“ You are so good,” he said gravely. “ Are 
you on your way to town now? ” 

“ Yes, just drew rein to ask you what luck 
you had.” 

“ We’ve done pretty well. There are a 
dozen birds in the buggy, and we’ve only been 
out for an hour or two. I’ll leave these three 
with you,” tucking them beneath the dust robe. 
“ and you must ask the cook at the hotel to 
broil them for your breakfast.” 


76 A Gumbo Lily. 

Thank you. Fve never tasted prairie 
chicken.” 

But remember, — these particular birds are 
snipe when they appear on your table. The 
law is not up till the fifteenth.” 

I will remember,” she said, laughing. 

The boy, Nev, standing by his father’s 
buggy, forgot that he was waiting, impatiently, 
to continue his hunting. He was gazing wide- 
eyed at the lady, as she talked and smiled. 
The charm which she exercised over all chil- 
dren was making itself felt upon him. 

Well, Nev and I are going to try one more 
stubble field, before dark. And I must not 
keep you longer,” said the Judge. “ May I see 
you to-night? ” he added, in a lower tone. 

“ You may,” softly. 

Her face radiated a happiness that she did 
not strive to conceal, as the man, lifting his 
hat, turned slowly away, and her horse started 
briskly homeward. The two hunters failed 
to get up any more chickens that evening. As 
they drove back to town in the early twilight, 
Nev Anderson asked, suddenly: 

“ Who was the lady in the phaeton, papa ? ” 

“ That was Mrs. Arnold, Nev. A client of 
mine.” 

“ Does Aunt Libby know her ? ” 

‘‘ I think not, dear.” 

‘‘ Does Miss Page know her ? ” 

‘^Miss Page? No, indeed!” 


One of the Colony. 


77 


Judge Anderson smiled sadly to himself. 
Aunt Libby was a maiden sister of the Judge 
who kept his house and looked after his crea- 
ture comfort, and that of his motherless boy. 
Miss Page was the woman he was engaged to 
marry. 

“ Why did you ask, Nev? 

“ Oh, because I thought they would want 
to know her. She looks so nice and good.’' 

Yes, my boy, but she is not in their set, 
you see. She is one of the Colony.” There 
was a shade of bitterness in the man’s tone that 
would not have escaped an older listener. 
What does that mean, papa ? ” 

“ One of those women who come out here 
for a divorce.” 

“ Oh, and she has left her husband ? ” 

She is freed from a brute! ” The Judge 
was talking more to himself than to the 
boy. 

And some people don’t like her because 
she did that ? ” 

Some people, yes.” 

“ Why — that Mr. Welland don’t have his 
wife any more, and everybody likes him.” 

“ Ah, yes, but he’s a man, Nev. It’s differ- 
ent with a man, you know.” 

The boy sighed, perplexed. “ I wish I could 
understand some things,” he said. 

“ I wish I could,” said the Judge. 

It had grown dark when the horse turned 


A Gumbo Lily. 


78 

in at the gate, and the boy could not see the 
look on his father's face as he asked softly : 

Papa, how could any man be a brute to a 
woman like that? " 

The Judge started in his seat. 

God knows ! " was his reply. 

** Did you notice how good and kind she 
looked at you all the time she was talking?” 

Yes, child.” 

“ And did you notice how she smiled way 
back in her eyes sometimes?” No answer. 
‘‘ And she got all sweet and trembly about the 
mouth when you talked to her, didn’t she ? ” 

‘‘ Yes,” breathed the Judge. The horse 
halted at the door. Judge Anderson laid his 
hand gently on the boy’ s shoulder. Nev, 
when will you be eleven years old, — next 
month? Well, — you’re a good shot, boy, — 
and in more ways than one. But I was think- 
ing about that old gun of yours. It does pretty 
fair execution still, but I guess you had better 
have one of those new-fangled Winchesters 
for your birthday.” 

In a spacious room on the second floor, 
front, of the St. James’ Hotel, at nine o’clock 
that evening, Miss Helen Page sat wondering, 
calmly, why Judge Anderson had not called. 

'' My dear, grave, handsome iiance/’ she 
murmured. “ I do not see him as often as I 
would like; and yet he is all that is fond and 
devoted, when with me. He is a wonderfully 


One of the Colony. 79 

busy man they say, and I trust he may not be 
overworking. He is very dear to me.’' 

In a smaller room of the hotel, facing a side 
street, but on the same floor and at the same 
hour, Miriam Arnold stood talking to a vis- 
itor — ^Judge Anderson. She was telling him 
some blithe little tale, the charm of which lay 
in the telling, and looping back a silken portiere 
as she talked. The Judge was listening in si- 
lence with the air of a man who has abandoned 
himself utterly to the enjoyment of the hour. 
He lay back in an easy chair, his eyes partially 
closed, a half smile on his lips. He was 
drowsed, inert with happiness. 

“How is that for a true story?” she fin- 
ished gaily, turning and smiling down upon 
him. He lifted his head a trifle; his glance 
swept the sweet length of heV, and their eyes 
met. 

“ I was thinking of you, Miriam, not of the 
story. What has come over you to-night? 
You have always been most gracious to me, 
most fascinating, most wonderful. I enter an- 
other world when I step into this little room, 
always. But to-night you are fairly spiritual 
in your loveliness. Miriam, you have often 
talked to me, read to me those same poems, 
sung to me those same dear songs — but never 
with the tenderness, the depth of feeling, the 
strange brilliancy of tone that has held me 
spellbound this evening.” 


8o 


A Gumbo Lily. 


I am glad you have enjoyed it all. I had 
intended it should be the happiest evening you 
ever spent with me, because it is to be the last,” 
she said simply. 

“ Why — why is this ? ” he asked gravely, 
straightening himself up in his chair, his voice 
husky, his face grown gray and drawn and 
old. 

The woman standing before him clenched 
her slender fingers and said, softly, “ Because 
it must be the last. Because that other woman, 
who waits for you down the corridor, must not 
wait in vain, hereafter.” He made an im- 
patient movement toward her. “Hush, dear.” 
She lifted her hand for silence, when he would 
have spoken. “ Let me say this, now, while 
I have the strength. One hour before you 
came this evening I learned from a chance 
caller that you were long ago betrothed to 
Helen Page, — that she loves and honors you, 
— above all men. While I am sorry not to 
have known this before, I do not blame you 
for not having told me. You shrank from 
hurting me, and possibly you thought there 
would be no necessity of telling me. Seeing 
me so often in a professional capacity, and be- 
friending me in the way you did, you came to 
care for me before you realized it. So I do not 
blame you. Only, if I had known, I should 
not have permitted you to care. But there is 
no harm done so far as the world can see. We 


One of the Colony. 8i 

are but client and attorney, — and good friends, 
— that is all.” 

Judge Anderson had never before faced an 
occasion wherein a woman proved herself 
stronger than he, and the present situation was 
a decided novelty, albeit a heart-breaking one. 
He rose from his chair. 

“ I did not have the courage to tell you of my 
engagement, Miriam, because I knew I should 
lose your friendship if I did. I loved you, and 
I was a coward.” 

“ Don’t, — don’t call yourself hard names. 
You are very dear to me. And I would have 
you do what is right, — and be good, and hon- 
orable — and happy.” 

“ That might all be, with you,” he ex- 
claimed. 

“ It must be. And without me. Think of 
your life! ” 

Life ! ” he interrupted bitterly. “ What is 
life? — Wanting what you haven’t got, that is 
life I ” She moved toward the door. He fol- 
lowed her, in silence. With his hand on the 
door-knob, he turned. “ Say you forgive me, 
— Miriam I ” 

There is nothing to forgive,” wearily. 
‘‘ No one is to blame. I did not know I was 
wronging any one, — and I — let it happen. 
And now, I must allow you to go. It is late, 
and I know you are tired, — you hunted so hard 
to-day.” With a brave ghost of a smile she 

6 


82 


A Gumbo Lily. 


held out her hand. “ I know you will be 
strong — I know you will be true to the good 
that is in you, always, and make me proud of 
having known you, — of — having — loved — 
you I ” Resolutely she checked back the rising 
sob — Good-night, dear,’^ she said, softly — 
and good-by.’’ In blind agony of tears he 
bent over her hand and kissed it reverently, 
then passed speechless from the room. 

That night, about one o’clock, fire broke out 
in the St. James Hotel, and by daylight the 
building was a heap of blackened ruins. 

The morning paper, in a lengthy account of 
the disastrous blaze, made special mention of 
the heroic act of a Mrs. Arnold, who, it seemed, 
had gone in search of a fellow-boarder. Miss 
Page, found her insensible in her room, and 
dragged her through smoke and flame to safety, 
receiving thereby very serious injuries herself. 

In Judge Anderson’s house on Cottonwood 
Avenue Plelen Page was being tenderly cared 
for. Her injuries were not very grave, thanks 
to the wet blanket her rescuer had wrapped 
about her. 

Who was this brave woman who saved my 
life?” Helen asked of the Judge, whom she 
had not permitted to leave her bedside as 
yet. 

“ Her name is Miriam Arnold,” answered 
the Judge. The grandest woman I have 
ever known,” he added, fervently. 


One of the Colony. 83 

Oh, you know her then? What can I ever 
do for her? Was she badly burned?” 

“ I fear so. They will permit no one to see 
her.” 

Poor soul ! ” remarked the Judge’s sister. 

She seemed to have a good face. Though, 
of course, I never knew her. She was one of 
the Colony ! ” 

In the home of a prominent physician, 
whither tender hands had borne her from the 
fire, Miriam Arnold lay, dying. The haunting 
brilliancy of her eyes was not of earth. Kind 
faces bent above her, the end was near. 

“ Don’t let him see me, please. Don’t let 
him — see me — suffer,” she murmured. 
‘‘ Peace will come, — God pardon my sins. 
God — bless — my dearest ! — God — bless my 
dearesfs — dearest! ” 


THE PERSON CONCERNED. 


‘‘ Speaking of friendship,” said Harry Dex- 
ter, host, to Frederick Renshavv, whilom guest, 
as the two men sat at breakfast in Dexter’s iso- 
lated shack on White River. “ I think that 
you and I, tossed together in this fashion, 
should become fast friends. Queer thing, 
your riding into my camp by chance a week 
ago, and accepting so readily my offer of bed 
and board, such as it was, in exchange for 
your society, such as it might prove to be.” 

Yes. And we are good friends, Dexter,” 
the younger man returned. “ Though I’ve lit- 
tle faith in disinterested friendship, as a rule. 

‘ Billy’s nothing to sell, Billy’s nothing to buy, 
there’s an end of the friendship of Billy and 
I,’ ” he quoted, gaily, transferring a spoonful 
of condensed milk from the can to his cup, and 
stirring it thoughtfully. 

Stuff and nonsense ! ” returned the tall pro- 
prietor of the shack. ^Hf you had ever really 
experienced anything of the sort, Renshaw, 
you’d never express it poetically. Boys talk 
that way. I did once. But wait until you are 
a bit older, and have had a sorrow ; your views 
will soften; you will find that on the whole it 
84 


The Person Concerned. 85 

is much better for one to idealize than to cyni- 
cize, much more worth while.” 

“ Will I ? ” A swift contraction, as of pain, 
passed over the boy’s smooth face, and the 
touch of pathos in his voice startled Dexter so 
that he grasped the coffee-pot, and held it up 
in silence. 

“ Not any more coffee, thanks. I’ve already 
drank three cups,” protested Renshaw, cheerily. 
“ What is that now about putting an enemy 
into one’s mouth, to steal away one’s appe- 
tite?” 

Laughing, the two men left the table and 
sought the open air, Dexter carrying cigars. 
They threw themselves down upon the fra- 
grant, frost-reddened grass before the door, 
glad to shake from their feet, for a time, the 
gumbo dust that was both floor and carpeting 
within the shack. 

“ Always the same,” murmured Renshaw. 
“ Always the long level stretch of bottom, the 
wriggling river, the bare, engirdling bluffs, 
the dusky arch of the sky.” 

“ Yes,” cried the other. ” But it’s great for 
one thing, Renshaw, that sort of view, this 
sort of life,” he vouchsafed, in that large and 
gracious maner which the Eastern man who 
has been West three months adopts toward the 
one who has been West a few days, “ it af- 
fords a fellow such an unlimited opportunity 
of studying himself.” 


86 


A Gumbo Lily. 


** Too true/' Renshaw replied. “ I don't 
think I ever looked myself squarely in the face, 
until now. Never had time, you know. Too 
near the end of the century." 

'' Yes," said Dexter. 

Wrapped in introspective mood, they 
smoked in silence. 

It was the noise of many hoofs approaching 
that roused them presently to at least a show 
of interest in the outside world, as a bunch of 
long-horned Texas cattle came bellowing up, 
in a cloud of dust, followed by ten or fifteen 
young Brule bucks and half-breeds, on horse- 
back. 

“ My herd," said Dexter, tersely, in answer 
to a somewhat languid look of interrogation 
from Renshaw. “ Strayed across the river 
last night. I presume; better feed over there." 

He did not rise nor remove his cigar from 
between his teeth. With a nonchalant nod 
to his visitors gathering round him on their 
ponies, he said, simply, “ This is more than 
kind of you, my friends, and I am very much 
obliged to you, indeed. They will ford the 
river now and then, in spite of me, the beasts ! 
I just wish you’d drive them back every 
time." 

The Indians, reining up in solemn semi- 
circle, stared at him for a moment in utter si- 
lence. Then wheeling suddenly, as one man, 
they dashed away, across the prairie, over the 


The Person Concerned. 87 

river, and out of sight, hoorahing like a pack 
of happy demons. 

An unprecedented piece of coolness on Dex- 
ter's part, since he knew that these Indians 
have legal right to hold all cattle trespassing 
on their Reserve, till the sum of one dollar per 
head be delivered up for release of same. 

“ Full of fire-water, every one of them," 
Dexter smilingly observed ; “ but the half- 
breeds understood what I said. It's best to 
bluff them when they are that way. Had i 
given them money, they'd be back here every 
day with a bunch of somebody's cattle, worry- 
ing me to death." 

“ Ah ! " said Renshaw. And that is their 
country over there ? What do they raise ? " 

“ The devil, principally." 

I wish some of the misguided philanthro- 
pists I know, with their heads full of King 
Philip's legends and Pocahontas romance, 
could catch a glimpse of a nineteenth century 
Indian, Reservation bred," mused Renshaw. 

Why, I know a woman in New York " 

He paused, flushed, flicked nervously at the ash 
on his cigar. 

The older man glanced down at him under 
half-closed eyelids. 

‘‘ I say, boy," he ventured softly, “ you 
needn't mind, you know, but I'm on to you 
all right." 

Renshaw sprang to his feet and straight- 


88 


A Gumbo Lily. 


ened himself out ; then turning swiftly he 
dropped a hand on Dexter’s shoulder. 

“ Perhaps I’m not on to you,” he cried. 

“ Don’t quite catch your meaning,” returned 
Dexter. 

Pardon me, I mean this,” pursued the 
other : “ that you are no bona fide cow- 

puncher, and never will be. That you are not 
bluffing aborigines and chasing cattle, for coin. 
You may be doing it for your health, or to cul- 
tivate your nerve, or to be able to sleep at night, 
or something of that sort, but not for what 
there is in it, that’s patent. Genuine cowboys 
do not smoke real Havanas, not right along, 
you know, nor take alcohol baths at night. 
And your English, at times, is too perfect. 
Last night, for instance, in speaking of that 
Indian agent, remember? You remarked 
that he had a sinecure; you should have said 
^ snap.’ ” 

You seem to know whereof you speak, my 
friend,” acknowledged Dexter with a laugh. 

But how is it with yourself, may I ask? 
You are seeking no job on the White River.” 

“ So? Kindly point out the give-away.” 

It’s your accent for one thing, Renshaw ; 
your shoes, for another. You’d never get 
through a cactus patch with those paper soles. 
And that gold-headed umbrella in this region 
is as obviously superfluous an article as is the 
dress guard on the latter-day girl’s bicycle. 


The Person Concerned. 


89 


She never rides in draperies, we never have any 
rain. Then, too, you couldn’t hope to affiliate 
with Indians and punchers, this side of heaven, 
wearing that Van Bibber air; you couldn’t do 
it, you know. On the whole, I cannot imagine 
what sent you from your native Manhattan to 
these wilds ! ” 

“ Can’t you ? ” The color faded from Ren- 
shaw’s countenance. “ I’ll tell you if you care 
to know.” 

Dexter lowered his gaze. 

I would like to know,” he answered, softly, 

and in turn I might relate to you something 
of what keeps me here, chasing cattle onto a 
Reservation for the reds to chase back again, 
out of deviltry, as you say, or to be able to sleep 
at night. Wearing, isn’t it, this not sleeping 
at night ? ” 

“ Very.” Renshaw, flinging himself down 
on the grass, again allowed his eyes to search 
the far horizon, as though lacking the neces- 
sary courage to begin his tale. Whose smoke 
is that, to the east of us ? ” he queried idly. 

“ Gordon’s, my nearest neighbor.” 

Oh, we’ll stroll over there some evening 
after tea.” 

We’d get there a trifle late, strolling. It’s 
ten miles from here air-line. No, it doesn’t 
look three; relative distances in this atmos- 
phere deceive.” 


90 


A Gumbo Lily. 


'' Like those fair women/’ mused the boy, 
that seem so near and are so far.” 

Speaking of Gordon,” Dexter went on, 
there’s a clever fellow for you. Comes of an 
old New York family, I’m told. Got mixed up 
with rather a wild set out here when he first 
came. And I fancy he was never very much 
on the praying order; but you can’t judge.” 

“ No,” the younger philosopher replied, 
you can’t judge. A priest may walk with 
a pirate, and a noble wish is as good as a prayer 
every time.” 

Mrs. Gordon was born and reared here in 
Dakota,” Dexter resumed. '' A very pretty 
woman, Mrs. Gordon.” He was edging 
deftly toward the subject each had tacitly 
shelved for the moment. 

I don’t know that I ever saw a homely wo- 
man,” observed Renshaw, gravely. 

*‘No? I’m afraid your heart is too big, 
Renshaw, and your only safety lies in being 
forewarned. I.et no woman, pretty or other- 
wise, put a price upon your soul ! ” 

It is so easy to preach,” said the boy. 

Dexter shrugged his shoulders. 

As for myself,” he continued, quite undis- 
turbed, “ I’m a bit like Benson, the cattle buyer, 
who stops at Gordon’s. A man that you’d 
like, by the way, thirty-nine years old, and 
straight as a string in morals and build, a gen- 
tleman, every inch of him. Chased the fron- 


The Person Concerned. 91 

tier westward for twenty-five years till he 
chased it into the Pacific, he says, then came 
back to Dakota, and the cattle business and 
success. Talking about the fair sex one day, 
he said to me, ‘ I don’t go in so very heavy on 
women- folks, Dexter; they don’t weigh out as 
you expect.’ ” 

“ So those are your sentiments,” said Ren- 
shaw, musingly. Well, you must have been 
very fond of a woman some time, Dexter,” he 
returned with the easy audacity of youth. 

“ Think so ? ” gravely. 

‘‘ Yes. It works that way,” oracularly. 

When one comes to have no use for a thing, 
generally speaking, it is because he has cared 
too much for it once. Besides, it shows in 
your face, man, the reason you have taken to 
the plains.” 

“ Thanks,” dryly. And my reason, no 
doubt, is your reason ? And it’s not printed all 
over your countenance either. Your apt read- 
ing of another’s heart lays bare your own.’^ 
Very well,” replied Renshaw, sitting up- 
right and looking his companion squarely in 
the eyes ; there is little left to tell. Are you 
a contributor to any of the leading maga- 
zines? ” 

‘'No. I have contributed from time to time, 
to several of the waste-paper baskets of this 
country and Europe, but not long since I took 
to making spills of my manuscript fast as it 


92 


A Gumbo Lily. 


materializes. Find it much the wiser plan; 
saves postage, you know, besides wear and tear 
on editors. Pray proceed.” 

As you say,” the boy began, I am seek- 
ing no job on the White River. I am here be- 
cause I had fancied this might be a good place 
in which to do some forgetting. The wild cow- 
boy life, the excitement of the plains, you 
understand. But it doesn't work. Forget? 
These level wastes and solemn buttes were 
designed from the beginning to make a man’s 
mind work, to make him think. You see if a 

fellow can’t forget, why he is apt to ” 

“ Remember,” finished Dexter, with no 
desire to be facetious, but possibly because his 
own wound gaped at the other’s words, and he 
must either joke or sob. 

Presently each man had told his story, brief- 
ly and with no mention of time or place. 

The woman in Renshaw’s case had sent him 
away. “ I don’t love you,” she had said, “ I 
don’t wish to marry you, and I don’t wish to 
spoil your life. So if you will go away at once 
you will soon forget me. My people cannot 
insist upon the match and all will be well.” 

So I drifted westward in a shower of shat- 
tered hopes,” said Renshaw, dramatically. 
“ You see when a man thinks that a woman is 
gold ” 

And finds her dross? ” 

And finds, beyond peradventure, the gold 


The Person Concerned. 


93 


is not for him, he naturally wants to get away. 
He wants to fight shy of those friends who 
used to say to him, ‘ I cannot imagine what 
you see in her ! ’ ” 

Yes,'' said Dexter, “ I came West quite of 
my own accord. I was fearful of bringing un- 
happiness to the person concerned. I had 
known her but three weeks; it was in the 
country, and we were living the life of dreams, 
when suddenly some one appeared to whom the 
family had betrothed her years before, it 
seems. I never met him, never knew his name. 
We had planned for a drive together, one 
afternoon, this girl and I; and just before the 
hour appointed there came a note from her, 
saying she was ill and could not keep her ap- 
pointment; another from the dragon she lived 
with, announcing her charge's engagement to 
an esteemed friend of the family, and stating 
briefly that my visits at her home would thence- 
forth be dispensed with. Well, I waited a few 
days, then I came away, anxious to do what 
was right. For I couldn't have stayed there 
and kept away from her. To be sure she had 
never told me that she loved me, and some- 
times " — musingly — “ I doubted whether she 
cared for me at all, then straightway doubted 
the doubt, so deeply in love was I. But, boy! 
her smile was something to remember; her 
profile such as is stamped on coins and carved 


94 A Gumbo Lily. 

in cameo. Her eyes were stars, her hair was 
sunshine.” 

The younger man rose silently to his feet, 
strode off a few paces, then back again. “If 
we are going for those antelope you spoke of, 
isn’t it time we were about it? ” he asked. 

The two men returned at dusk, with a good- 
sized buck behind Dexter’s saddle. 

“ The pulses actually jumped for a bit while 
we were shooting,” Renshaw casually remarked 
as they rode homeward. “ But it ends with 
the sport. Strange how joy escapes one.” 

“ There is one avenue by which that precious 
commodity very easily escapes,” said Dexter. 

“ Never to return for some of us? ” 

“ For some of us.” Dexter’s eyes were 
turned to where the distant red of a prairie fire 
splotched the horizon. “ Where the flames now 
sweep so fiercely the grass springs green an- 
other year; and so with this boy,” he said to 
himself, “ the joy of life will come again to 
him.” 

The boy, silent, was thinking the other 
thing of his companion. “ Poor old Dexter, 
he’s in for life. A curse on the woman, I say, 
who could wreck so grand a soul ! ” With a 
growing regard for Harry Dexter, Renshaw 
had conceived a hatred of the Person Con- 
cerned. 

They had reached the cabin and dismounted, 
just as the stock buyer from Gordon’s rode up. 


The Person Concerned. 


95 


Mr. Renshaw, Mr. Benson,” said Dexter. 

Very glad to know you,” exclaimed Ben- 
son, reaching down from his saddle to shake 
hands with Renshaw in cordial, whole-souled 
fashion. 

No one had ever been known to dislike Wells 
Benson, people said, save one individual, a 
greaser, at Fort Pierre in the early days, and 
that man, tradition ran, had suddenly and mys- 
teriously disappeared, one night, never to 
return. 

Got any good four-year-olds you want to 
sell ? ” Benson inquired of Dexter. 

“ Yes. But they aren’t fit to ship.” 

That doesn’t matter. I’ll come around 
about day after to-morrow, and we’ll go out 
and look them over. Eh? Must be moving 
on, now; old Jones down the river is laid up 
again with the snakes, and I’m taking the kids 
a few provisions.” To Renshaw he added, 
apologetically, They haven’t got any mother, 
poor little things,” and he gave the bulky pack 
behind him a punch as he turned to go. 

But see here,” he called back. Came 
near forgetting. Gordon asked me to tell you, 
Dexter, that he and his wife, and the young 
lady visiting them this past week, distant rela- 
tion of his from back East, and out here for her 
health, are all coming over to see you to- 
morrow. She, the girl, is fond of horseback 
riding, and wants to see the country. Plenty 


A Gumbo Lily. 


96 

of it to see, isn’t there ? ” with a comprehensive 
sweep of his brawny arm, and a laughing 
glance at Renshaw, who stood aghast. 

Well, see you day after to-morrow, gentle- 
men. So long,” and Benson galloped on down 
the river. 

“ Magnificent specimen of manhood, Ren- 
shaw,” Dexter observed. 

“Yes; but, I say, I feel just like entertain- 
ing a couple of ladies, don’t you?'” Renshaw’s 
tone was savage. 

“ Oh, we’ll manage it some way, I daresay,” 
returned the other wearily, as though nothing 
mattered greatly. “ Dinner, that is the worst 
of it. Anything of a cook, Renshaw ? ” 

“Cook? Try me.” The boy’s face bright- 
ened. “ They used to say at the club : ' Just 
give Fred Renshaw a chafing-dish, and ’ ” 

“ But we haven’t a chafing-dish, nor any- 
thing to put into it if we had,” interrupted 
Dexter. 

“Well, then, what is the matter with antelope 
steak broiled over the coals? And a rare-bit? 
I can manage it from those scraps of old 
cheese melted and poured over toasted hard- 
tack,” exclaimed Renshaw, nothing daunted. 
“ There’d be coffee, of course, and a salad of 
those cresses you found last night, and some 
wild plums and buffalo-berries if you like, and 
that last can of pudding, with a dash out of 


The Person Concerned. 97 

your biggest decanter for sauce, and you’ve a 
feast for the gods, man.” 

“ Very well,” said Dexter. I shall leave all 
to you.” 

“ There’s no shadow of a chance of their not 
coming,” said Renshaw, on the following 
morning, which had dawned in marvellous 
beauty. “ They would come on such a day as 
this, if they had never thought of coming be- 
fore.” 

At eleven o’clock Dexter, surveying the east- 
ern trail through his field-glasses, made out 
three riders approaching. “ They’re coming, 
Renshaw, they’re coming ! ” he shouted. ‘‘ I 
say, don’t smoke the chops, will you, or let the 
pudding scorch.” 

“ Who’s doing this ? ” retorted Renshaw, 
from the region of the cook-stove. “ You just 
cool down, old man, and we’ll pull it off all 
right.” 

“ Tell me, Renshaw,” replied the other, 
gravely, are all good cooks cross men ? ” 

Yes. But all cross men are not good 
cooks ! ” Then the two men laughed at them- 
selves and at each other and felt decidedly 
better. 

Dexter had readjusted the field-glasses. 
Lowering them suddenly he stood motionless, 
silent, in the doorway. Turning mechanically, 
when Renshaw called out to know what was 

7 


98 


A Gumbo Lily. 


the matter, he began shoving the glasses into 
the case wrong end up, as he answered: 

‘‘ Nothing. Only when a man has put a 
thing out of his life for good and all, it’s rather 
a shock to find it coming back again, whether 
or no.” He glanced over his shoulder and 
turned swiftly on his companion. “ A favor, 
Renshaw,” he exclaimed. ‘‘ Go out and meet 
those people in my place. Introduce yourself 
to Gordon, and he will present you to the ladies ; 
it will be all right.” 

Er — certainly. But you — you are not 

going to bolt?” 

‘‘Bolt?” Dexter’s voice expressed some- 
thing more than scorn; and Renshaw won- 
dered within himself as he darted out to meet 
the approaching guests. 

Dexter, trembling as with cold, stepped 
quickly to the little dry-goods box of a cup- 
board in the farther room and poured out a 
glass of brandy. He lifted it to his lips, he 
paused, he set it down, untasted, closing the 
cupboard door. 

“ I have some will-power left,” and walking 
resolutely into the front room, he stood facing 
the outer door as a soldier stands at attention. 
Lifting his right hand, he drew an imaginary 
bead on a nail in the wall, without a tremor. 
His nerves were steady. 

Outside, Renshaw was introducing himself 
perfunctorily to Jack Gordon, who presented 


The Person Concerned. 99 

him to Mrs. Gordon and Miss Kenyon. He 
crossed over to the latter to assist her from the 
saddle. As he reached her side she quietly 
slipped him a cool, soft hand. 

“Rose Kenyon !” he cried beneath his breath. 

“ Surprised ? she whispered. “ I am not. 
I was told only this morning who stayed here, 
and that is not what brought me West. It was 
Jack’s urgent invitaton — he’s a distant cousin 
of mine, you know — and my health, and a wild 
desire to escape the social maelstrom, that’s all.” 

“Well?” he queried, tenderly, helplessly, 
as he stooped to restore a glove she had 
dropped. “ These people know ? ” 

“ Nothing.” 

“ And your present role ? Am I to address 
you as Rose or Miss Kenyon, former acquaint- 
ance ? ” 

“ As Miss Kenyon, Stranger, please.” 

“Since you wish it,” he assented bravely; 
and the Gordons coming up at the moment, the 
little party entered the house together. Miss 
Kenyon and Dexter were introduced, the latter 
bowing rather awkwardly over the girl’s kindly 
proffered hand, Renshaw thought. And the 
girl as she removed her soft riding-hat, and 
pushed back the locks from her temples where 
the blue veins showed, looked paler than in the 
sunlight, Renshaw also observed. 

Constraint seemed straightway to vanish in 
the genial flow of conversation which followed : 

L. of C. 


100 


A Gumbo Lily. 


Miss Kenyon’s recital of her first impressions 
of Dakota, Jack’s running fire of chaff, his 
wife’s laughing remonstrances, and the host’s 
jovial exposition of the trials and makeshifts 
of “ keeping bach.” 

They were a merry party as they sat down 
to Renshaw’s dinner, which was a pronounced 
success. When the brandy had flamed on the 
pudding, and each had done full justice to this 
final dish, Renshaw spread a cloth over the re- 
mains of the feast and followed Dexter and his 
guests out of doors. 

The afternoon was spent in teaching the 
ladies how to shoot at a mark, “ in dodging 
their bullets,” Gordon said. Pleasant pastime 
either way, thought Dexter ; and when, at five 
o’clock, the visitors mounted and rode away, 
the two men left at the little cabin felt that 
their surroundings had grown singularly deso- 
late. 

‘‘ Well, old fellow ! ” exclaimed Renshaw 
with an effort at jocularity, '' what do you 
think of Miss Kenyon? Like her?” 

“ Renshaw, why don’t you ask me if I’m 
a man ? ” and Dexter, with a short laugh, and 
no shadow of a smile upon his lips, strode out 
of doors. Returning presently, he held up to 
view a bit of filmy veiling. 

“ Miss Kenyon’s,” he said simply. 

Why not Mrs. Gordon’s?” 

Mrs. Gordon uses musk. This is violet.” 


The Person Concerned. loi 

Dexter brought the dainty web nearer his face. 
Its vague perfume seemed to affect him as a 
living personality. 

One of us must ride over with it,” said 
Renshaw. “ She may need it.” 

To be sure,” said Dexter. 

The boy was impatient. Is it a toss-up ? ” 
he asked. 

‘‘No,” returned the other; “I don’t fancy 
deciding anything concerning a lady by 
chance. I’ll lay the article on the shelf here,” 
suiting the action to the word, “ and he takes 
it who is up and away with it first in the morn- 
ing.” 

“ Agreed,” said Renshaw. 

Towards noon of the next day, as Renshaw 
moved restlessly about inside the cabin, alone, 
Dexter returned from Gordon’s. 

“ I saved you a long ride, sleepy head,” was 
his cheery salutation, as he entered, flinging 
his saddle into the nearest corner and himself 
into the nearest chair. “ Folks weren’t at 
home, but I left the veil, and received the mes- 
sage they were to send us. It seems Miss Ken- 
yon is going home day after to-morrow. — tele- 
gram, or something of that sort, — and Mrs. 
Gordon is to accompany her on a visit. They 
have invited us to ride over there this after- 
noon, spend the night, and go with them on an 
expedition to some big butte in the morning, 
a picnic Benson has planned. Benson says he 


102 


A Gumbo Lily. 

will look at my cattle to-morrow, instead of 
to-day, as agreed.” 

“Well?” 

“ Well, I was there, and might have stayed, 
but I wanted to do the square thing, Renshaw, 
so came back for you.” 

“ Thanks,” drawled Renshaw. 

“ It seems rather too bad,” observed Dexter, 
a moment later, “ that Miss Kenvon should be 
going back before she has fairly recovered her 
health.” 

“ Yes?” 

“ She is far from strong.” 

Renshaw looked up curiously. “ She doesn’t 
seem to be well,” he said. 

“ Oh, she’s not,” assented the other, in a 
tone which seemed to say, “ I am donating you 
this fact, but I do not begrudge it.” 

Renshaw went out of the house to hide a 
smile. “ You’d think he had known her all his 
life,” he remarked to his broncho at the corral 
fence. 

That evening, at Gordon’s, Miss Kenyon 
distributed her smiles and pleasantries quite im- 
partially among Renshaw, Dexter, and Benson, 
the cattle buyer. Socially the latter held his 
own. The unassuming manner in which he re- 
lated incidents in his career, that could not fail 
of interest to the uninitiated ; his honest, manly 
attitude toward the world in general, no less 
than the glowing personality of the man him- 


The Person Concerned. 


103 


self, sufficed to call forth the unbounded appro- 
bation of those quondam students of human 
nature, Renshaw, Dexter, and Rose Kenyon. 

It chanced that the latter rode beside Ben- 
son in the mornin,2^, Renshaw following with 
Mrs. Gordon, and Dexter bringing up the rear 
with a neighboring ranchman’s daughter, who, 
having ridden up at the last moment, was per- 
suaded to join the party. Gordon was detained 
at home for the day. 

At noon the riders, dismounting, ate their 
lunch in the shade of the red willows border- 
ing the creek that slept at the base of Big Butte, 
and discussed the question of ascending; the 
view from the summit was said to be very fine. 

The life of the ranchman’s daughter having 
been largely composed of view thus far, and 
the landscape as surveyed from Big Butte being 
somewhat of an old story to her, she therefore 
unblushingly announced that she would a 
sight rather go down the crick a piece and pick 
buffalo-berries, if Mr. Dexter would just as 
soon.” 

Mr. Dexter replying that he would “ just 
as soon,” and Mrs. Gordon declaring that she 
should not think of attempting the climb, thus 
constraining the gallant Renshaw to remain 
with her. Miss Kenyon and Benson were left 
to make the ascent alone. 

There are so many big buttes hereabouts,” 
said Benson, as they made ready to start, that 


104 


A Gumbo Lily. 


I think we must rename this one. Believe 
ril call it Benson’s Butte.” 

“ No, it shall be named for me, since I 
have traveled so far to climb it,” exclaimed 
Rose Kenyon, sweetly imperious. 

“ We will settle that at the top,” said Ben- 
son. His tone was low and masterful. 

Dexter and his fair companion, trudging off 
down the creek, had returned, with a basket- 
ful of the odorous red berries; and Renshaw, 
devoting himself to Mrs. Gordon, relating to 
her his wittiest tales, had very nearly fathomed 
what it was about her face that had been 
pretty once, when Miss Kenyon and her escort 
reached the summit of the butte, the tiny figure 
and the towering one making disproportionate 
silhouettes against the western sky. 

Renshaw and Dexter, watching them, won- 
dered what mummery was going on, for Ben- 
son stood clasping the girl’s hands in one of 
his, while he lifted the other to the sky. 

“ Why, they are dedicating the bluff, aren’t 
they?” exclaimed Mrs. Gordon, glancing up- 
ward at a smothered ejaculation from Ren- 
shaw. “ Such foolish children as they are ! 
But there, the sun blinds me, I can’t watch 
them.” 

The neighbor’s daughter, gazing coolly up- 
ward, began in saucy tones : “ Sakes ! but old 

Wells Benson’s made a tremendous ” when 

something in Dexter’s somber eyes, turned full 


The Person Concerned. 105 

upon hers, silenced her, and the sentence was 
never completed. 

A moment later, man and girl came scram- 
bling down the declivity, hand in hand. 

That’s all right,” Renshaw silently ob- 
served, he has to keep her from slipping, of 
course ; but I never saw Rose Kenyon so reck- 
lessly happy. It’s not like her at all ! ” 

“ But this is life ! This is what I have longed 
for ! ” he heard her say to Benson, as they came 
up, flushed and breathless. And I’m going 
to ride home with you, Mr. Dexter,” she an- 
nounced to that individual, with a vivid smile, 
because your horse is the fastest in the outfit, 
Mr. Benson says, and I want to race all the way 
back.” 

Very well,” said Dexter. She is most 
kind,” he thought. 

So beautiful is she,” said Renshaw to him- 
self, “ I cannot give her up without an effort. 
I, too, will board the stage for Chamberlain 
to-morrow.” 

Jack Gordon, greeting the riders on their re- 
turn, complimented his Cousin Rose upon her 
tanned and glowing countenance. 

Benson still wishing to inspect Dexter’s cat- 
tle that afternoon, the three gentlemen took 
an abrupt departure, each thanking the ladies 
for a pleasant day, and each expressing to Miss 
Kenyon, after a fashion of his own, the hope 
that he might see her soon again. 


io6 A Gumbo Lily. 

They had ridden half a mile down the trail, 
these three, when, turning in their saddles as 
by a common impulse, they saw Rose Kenyon 
standing as they had left her, in the road, by 
Gordon’s house. She was gazing after them, 
and as they turned, she lifted her handkerchief, 
a mere speck of white, and let it flutter for an 
instant in the wind. 

Renshaw and Dexter gravely doffed their 
hats. Benson, standing in his stirrups, swept 
off his sombrero and extended it far above his 
head in dignified salute. Then they left the 
table-land, and descended into the valley where 
the trail stretched straight to the river.. 

Benson was the first to speak. 

What a wonderful combination a woman 
is ! ” he exclaimed softly. And isn’t it great,'’ 
he went on — “ isn’t it great, after a fellow has 
roughed it along, year after year, over all sorts 
of country, with so many ups and downs, and 
miry places, to find, all of a sudden, a clear, 
safe, pleasant trail ahead of him, stretching 
straight to heaven ? ” 

Renshaw and Dexter exchanged glances past 
the cattle buyer’s head which said plainly, 
“ What has come over this man ? ” 

They reached the cabin. Dexter and Ben- 
son, having cared for the tired ponies, pro- 
ceeded to catch fresh ones for the ride to the 
herd. 

Renshaw attended to matters indoors. The 


The Person Concerned. 107 

fire kindled and the kettle filled, he dropped 
into a chair, and abandoned himself to dreams. 

How it comes over me again ! ” he mused. 
“ The witchery of her voice, her eyes, her 
smile! No wonder poor old Benson seems 
taken with her ; and Dexter too, though 1 
should hardly have thought it of Dexter. I 
wonder now how Rose Kenyon compares with 
his divinity? She must have been, — she must 
have been — God I ” as Dexter’s extravagant de- 
scription recurred to him, “ her face is carven, 
her eyes are stars, her hair is sunshine! I 
wonder if it can be?” He heard the others 
bringing up the horses and went out. I will 
ask Dexter when we are alone,” he mentally 
resolved. “ I will ask him.” 

Once more in the saddle the trio made for a 
certain ravine, some two miles down the river, 
where Benson thought he had sighted ” Dex- 
ter’s brand several days previous, and where 
as luck would have it, they found the bunch 
quietly feeding. Benson and Dexter proceeded 
to business ; Renshaw, halting, sat his horse in 
silence. 

“ What will you give me for the lot, cash 
down ? ” Dexter asked presently. Benson 
named a price. I will take it,” said Dexter ; 

I want to get away from here.” 

“ Very well. I’ll make you out a check when 
we get to the house,” Benson said. '' They 


io8 


A Gumbo Lily. 


may have to be dehorned, those Texas fellows,*' 
he added, casting his eye over the herd. 

Renshaw, listening as one in a dream, was 
reminded of an old Western farmer he had 
once met, traveling in France, who, upon first 
beholding the Paris guillotine, had exclaimed, 
Gol ! if I ever see one o' them things afore. 
I’m on to dehornin’ pretty slick, but blamed 
if this ain’t the first deheadin’ outfit I ever come 
acrost.” 

Renshaw marveled, dumbly, that in the stress 
of the present moment his mind should have 
reverted to so trivial an incident of the past. 

Turning, he rode homeward with the others. 
Dexter, whistling softly, with a preoccupied 
air, glanced furtively at Renshaw from time to 
time. Benson, a bit of pencil in his hand, ap- 
peared to be making a rough estimate of some 
sort on the flat pommel of his saddle. Pres- 
ently he dropped behind the others, and began 
cutting at something in the short grass with his 
raw-hide. 

‘‘ Renshaw,” said Dexter hurriedly, I am 
to take the stage to-morrow. I’m going East 
again.” 

^Wou are?” Renshaw’s eyes were riveted 
upon a spot midway between his horse’s ears. 
Stooping suddenly in his saddle, with his face 
thus partially concealed from his companion’s 
view, he observed, tentatively, “ Then Rose 
Kenyon has proved to be that one of whom 
you told me ? ” 


The Person Concerned. 109 

None other/' 

And you are friends again? " 

“ I think so ; she is most gracious, she has 
not married, and, yes, I fancy matters may be 
mended now. Strange how these things come 
about, eh, Renshaw ? " 

Very." 

You — you wish me well, boy? " 

I wish you well." Renshaw's horse, slack- 
reined, stumbled into a prairie-dog hole, fall- 
ing to his knees, and as the animal regained 
his feet Dexter noticed that the boy’s face was 
pale and drawn. 

“ Why, you are all shaken up," exclaimed 
the elder man, solicitously. 

‘‘ Yes, but no harm done. Any little jolt af- 
fects me, you know ; been that way since my last 
football game, a year ago; some men jumped 
on my heart." 

Here Benson’s yellow mustang forged in be- 
tween them again, and Benson’s cheery voice 
announced, “ Been killing a rattler back there, 
boys. Good luck, they say, killing a rattler, 
and I guess it’s true. Anyhow, luck’s walked 
my way to-day, and as I must say good night 
and good-by to you two pretty quick now, I 
may as well tell you what’s up." He cleared 
his throat. I’m going away to-morrow, on a 
trip, — I’m going to be married! Congratu- 
late me ? ’’ 

“ Most certainly," stammered Renshaw. 


no 


A Gumbo Lily. 

With all my heart,” said Dexter, glancing 
in vague uneasiness at the cattle-man's glowing 
face. 

“ Thanks,” said Benson. It’s the strangest 
thing, and what I’ve ever done to deserve it! 
A rough old fellow like me, a little white wind- 
flower like her; but I love her — God, I love 
her I ” The words were breathed forth rev- 
erently; he seemed to have forgotten, for the 
moment, that any one rode beside him. 

Renshaw, glancing at him, in swift convic- 
tion, looked past him at the other man’s white 
profile, profoundest pity in his eyes. “ I say, 
Benson,” he began huskily, “ you renamed that 
butte to-day, did you not? You — and Miss 
Kenyon ? ” 

‘‘ Yes,” said Benson, smiling, “ we renamed 
it. Dedicated it too.” 

Dexter was listening breathlessly, his hag- 
gard eyes turned on Benson in mute inquiry. 
And Renshaw went on : 

“You named it ” 

“ Benson’s Butte.” 

“For — for both of you?” Dexter gasped. 

Benson looked straight before him into the 
sunset, his rugged countenance transfigured by 
the radiance without, the joy within, and said, 
simply : 

“ For both of us.” 


A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF EVE. 


The sleighing was good, and the senior class 
of the Glenville High School had planned a 
bob-sled ride by moonlight. 

But the question arose as to which one of 
the boys should sit solitary on the spring seat 
and do the driving. After much discussion it 
was arranged. Ralph Evanston, a quiet boy 
of eighteen, who was relegated to the foot of 
the social ladder, but who stood at the head of 
his class, was asked to handle the reins on this 
occasion, for a stipulated sum. Feeling that 
he needed the money, he pocketed his pride and 
said yes. 

It was a merry party that nestled down in 
the straw and tucked the robes about them as 
the bob-sled started. The boy on the spring 
seat whistled and chirruped to his horses, but 
his heart was not light. He felt that he was 
not one of them. Worst of all, the little shy 
girl of the class, Marie Dunn, the mayor’s 
daughter, who had always been so kind to him, 
was sitting in behind there with Judge Whit- 
tendon’s son at her side, talking to her. And 
talking as if he owned her, and the whole 
shooting match,” Ralph muttered to himself. 


II2 


A Gumbo Lily. 


Striving not to think of the merriment in which 
he had no part, he began to drive furiously. 
The horses broke into a gallop, the sleigh 
jumped and bounced over the crossings, and 
several of the girls began to scream in fear or 
delight. Ralph slackened the pace at once, 
wondering anxiously if he had jarred the Lit- 
tle Shy One, or jolted any of those great boys 
against her. But what is this? Can he be- 
lieve his ears? 

Ralph is driving too recklessly, and I 
think I shall have to sit with him and keep him 
straight.” Before any of the young people 
behind could stop her, the Little Shy One had 
hopped into the seat beside the driver, and 
slipping down beneath the robe, said softly, 
‘‘ You don’t mind, do you? ” 

“ Well, I should say not,” was the boy’s 
off-hand reply. 

He was in Paradise. Just the touch of her 
arm filled him with an exquisite sense of happi- 
ness, hitherto unknown. 

'‘What made you do that?” he asked sud- 
denly, gettino- his courage. 

“ Do what ? ” sweetly. 

" Come up here with me.” 

" Oh, because I thought you were lonesome, 
Ralph.” 

" But I’m afraid you’ll get cold, perched up 
here. It’s not a warm night by a long shot. 
Bet your feet are cold now, aren’t they ? 


A Little Daughter of Eve. 113 

Honest, aren’t they?” The boy bent toward 
her, in awkward solicitude. 

“ They’re all right,” the girl answered. But 
her feet did not touch the bottom of the sleigh, 
and she kept kicking them together to get them 
warm. Her companion hesitated an instant, 
then he handed her the reins. 

Here,” he exclaimed, “ hold them a mo- 
ment, please. I’m going to wrap something 
around your feet.” Almost before she knew 
it, his overcoat, warm from his strong young 
body, was turned across her knees, and over 
the scanty lap-rob, and tucked deftly and se- 
curely about the little swinging feet. 

“ Oh, that’s fine, thank you ; but, Ralph, it’s 
your overcoat ! You must put that right back 
on this minute,” exclaimed Marie. 

“ Hush ! ” He held her gently in the seat. 
“ You can’t make me put that overcoat on un- 
til we reach your house, so don’t jump up. 
And don’t let those guys back there hear you, 
please.” 

All right,” she whispered, and was silent. 

Say, why haven’t you got on your over- 
shoes ? ” asked the boy presently. 

Why, I’ll tell you. Annie was all dressed 
for a party just as we started, and couldn’t 
find her overshoes, so I made her wear mine.” 

The boy muttered something beneath his 
breath. 

‘‘ Marie, aren’t you coming back here 

a 


114 A Gumbo Lily. 

again? ” called one from the merry crowd be- 
hind them. 

“ Thank you, Tm all right where I am,” re- 
plied the girl. 

‘‘ They’re having a big time back there,” 
said Ralph. 

“ Sounds like it,” Marie responded. But 
I don’t care; do you? ” 

'' Not a whole lot, no,” was the reply. 

“ Because if you do,” Marie went on, I’ll 
drive awhile and let you go back and have some 
fun with the girls.” The boy threw back his 
head and laughed. Then he leaned toward 
her. 

“ You know you’re talking through your 
bonnet now,” he said, “ and I know another 
thing too,” he continued : “ Reginald Alexan- 
der Whittendon is going to be awfully hot 
over your desertion.” Reginald was the law- 
yer’s son. 

Desertion ? Why, I didn’t come with him. 
I came with Alice Jones. And, say,” in con- 
fidential whispers, ‘‘ I made up a riddle on Reg- 
inald just about the time I climbed over here. 
Want to guess it? ” 

Sure.” 

“ Well,” in a mysterious undertone, why is 
Reginald Whittendon unlike an egg ? ” 

“ Because he’s never bad? ” promptly. 

No, sir. Because an egg cannot be too 
fresh, and Reginald Judd can ! ” 


A Little Daughter of Eve. 115 

Ralph laughed his appreciation, trembling 
with happiness. Was he a poverty-stricken 
lad, on a spring seat, driving a pleasure party 
for the paltry sum of fifty cents? He was a 
king on his throne. The Little Shy One sat 
beside him from choice! He resolved silently 
that he would never touch that fifty cents if it 
was the last money he saw in life. 

“ Don’t you skate any more? ” asked Marie 
presently. “ I haven’t seen you on the ice this 
winter.” 

“ No,” responded the boy, “ it’s no fun skat- 
ing alone, and I’ve no one to go with, you 
know.” 

“ Too bad I ” scornfully. “ Too bad you’re 
to bashful to ask any of the girls I ” 

Bashful, nothing!” 

‘‘ And you’re the best skater in school, you 
know it. And you’re so big and strong, too, 
in case of accidents. I’ll never forget how you 
pulled litttle Jamie Reeves out of that air-hole 
last winter; that was fine, that was! ” 

The boy drew in a deep swift breath of ec- 
stasy. The girl’s voice thrilled him. He 
gripped the reins tighter to keep from seizing 
the little red-mittened hand that rested on his 
sleeve for one inadvertent instant as its owner 
chatted on. 

“ The skating is excellent now, did you 
know it ? All of the young folks are going up 
to the mill-pond, Saturday,” she said. 


ii6 


A Gumbo Lily. 


When the sleigh stopped at Marie’s house, 
Ralph sprang to the ground, tossed the reins 
to young Whittendon, and picking up the little 
figure on the spring seat, carried her in his 
arms to the front porch. 

“ She’s got no overshoes on,” he called back 
in explanation to the chaffing crowd. 

And the Little Shy One, to his unbounded 
admiration, did not struggle, or giggle, or pre- 
tend to be indignant at this action on his part. 
She said simply, ” My ! but you are strong ! ” 
with a little proud note in her voice. And when 
he had set her quietly down on the steps,, she 
smiled up at him in sweet dignity, and said, 
“ Thank you, Ralph.” 

The boy halted on the steps, fumbling at his 
glove. He cleared his throat. “ Saturday 
afternoon, is it, we’re to have that skate ? ” he 
ventured. 

'' Why, yes, certainly, if you can get away,” 
was the girl’s quick reply. I can be ready 
by half-past two. '' Good-night, everybody,” 
she called gaily to the chattering crowd in the 
sleigh. Good night, Ralph,” she said shyly 
to the boy, turning slowly away. “I’ve had 
the nicest ride ! ” 

“ Same here,” returned the boy. 
night, Marie.” 


“ Good 


LOCOED. 


Stuff's off, Aunt Harriet." 

What, — what do you mean ? " 

“ Mean the jig’s up, that’s all." 

“ Harry, can’t you talk sense ? " 

I turned indignantly upon my handsome 
nephew, who had returned only that morning 
from a six weeks’ hunting trip in the Big Horn 
country, and who at the moment lay stretched 
upon a rug before my kitchen fire, rolling up 
some pale yellow tobacco in a little piece of 
white paper, which he proceeded to smoke. I 
was busily stirring up a cake. 

You remember that little matter I wrote 
to you about from Cheyenne ? " He blew some 
smoke from his nostrils, and coughed once or 
twice. “ Well, in plain United States, then, I 
wish to inform you that it is done, — finished, — 
shot in the air ! " 

I shook my head hopelessly at the tin I was 
buttering. 

“ You slangy boy," I began, but the reproach 
died on my lips as I glanced down at him, and 
noted for the first time how thin and drawn his 
features had grown (albeit bronzed), the hag- 
gard, restless look in his dear blue eyes, and 

117 


ii8 


A Gumbo Lily. 


the reckless smile on his lips. When he spoke 
again, I was conscious of the deep feeling 
that lay beneath his carelessness of expression. 

“ Get on to my meaning now, Auntie? The 
girl dropped me, shook me, — that’s it. Had no 
time for your pretty young nephew ! ” 

“ Well, 1 declare,” I answered, I never sup- 
posed you would care for a woman of such 
poor taste.” 

He smiled wearily. '' Care for her ! I just 
love her, that’s all. Dead right. Aunt Harriet, 
I mean, — that’s straight, — I love her ! ” 

My eyes filled with tears. Wiping my 
floury hands on my apron, I bent over the boy, 
kissed him and patted his brown head. 

“ Never mind, dear,” I said, “ it may be all 
right by and bye ; and any way, you must tell 
your old maid Auntie all about it.” 

He was the secret pride of my heart, this 
nephew, — the only son of a dear sister who had 
named the boy for me, then died, leaving him 
in my keeping. 

He looked up now with that peculiarly tender 
smile that he always had for me, and said, as 
I dropped a spoonful of batter on a tin and put 
it in the oven, “ You still bake your little sam- 
ple cake first, do you?” 

“ Yes,” I answered, laughing. “ Do you 
want to try it for me, when it’s baked, as you 
used when you were little?” 

“Yes, — no,” he replied, vaguely; “I was 


Locoed. 


119 

just thinking what a great thing it would be if 
we poor mortals could do that way with our 
lives, — try a little dab of it first. But no, — we 
must slap the whole thing into the oven at 
once, and it is cooked forever, whether or no. 
And if we don’t put it into the oven at all, why, 
the cake is dough. So there you are.” 

“ Tell me what she is like, Harry,” I said 
gently. 

“ I wish I could tell you what she is like, 
but I can’t describe her any more than I can 
understand her.” 

“Can’t understand her? Why?” 

“ Because she is a woman, and woman is a 
mystery the key to which was lost forever, ages 
and ages ago. No wonder a mere man can’t 
understand her. When the Almighty made her 
and set her to going, and she went straight to 
eating up his little private stock of apples, it 
shocked him so that he forgot the combina- 
tion, and she’s been the mystery of the Uni- 
verse ever since.” 

I kept silent, knowing the boy would tell me 
of his trouble in his own good time. 

“ This girl has an elder brother I can de- 
scribe to you, in just one word — puppy ! ” he 
began finally. “ Comes of a good family, all 
right, one of these well-bred curs, that get 
turned loose on society every now an'd then, 
you know. I met him at a dance, one night, — 
a regular free-for-all it was, — no place for a 


120 


A Gumbo Lily. 


married man like him, and he was entertaining 
a little biscuit shooter in the refreshment 
room.” 

“ What sort of a girl was she ? ” I asked. 

“ Well, not the sort of girl you would want 
to know, or I either for that matter, — unless T 
happened to have a large field of corn that I 
had just cut, — in which case I might want to 
employ her to walk through it once, — to shock 
it, — you know.” 

I did not even smile at this. I could be se- 
vere with him, at times. 

‘‘ Well, as I was saying,” he continued, it 
was there that I met him first, and conceived 
such an instantaneous dislike to him, that I 
tried to shake him on the spot. But no, — the 
creature froze to me from that moment. Came 
to see me the next day and insisted on taking 
me up to his father’s house to luncheon. Good 
old man, the Governor, — in his way, — but he 
had fatty degeneration of the soul. While I 
was lunching at the paternal palace^ the son’s 
wife came in and began to make trouble because 
he did not come home to lunch. ‘ Why, my 
love, I forgot to come home, but I have got 
some good news for you, though ; I’ve turned 
over a new leaf.’ ^ Oh,’ she exclaimed. ‘ Yes 
— I’ve made up my mind to give up drinking 
whisky, — am going to take brandy instead.’ 
You can imagine my feelings. The wife left 
the room, slamming the door, and I felt then 


Locoed. 


I2I 


and there that she blamed me somehow for her 
husband’s imkindness, — in other words, that 
she had it in for me. Of course, I took my 
departure, soon as I could, and fought shy 
of the young fellow for a week. He joined 
me, however, one morning, just as I was start- 
ing on a long ride across country. When we 
entered town on our return, towards noon, we 
met a girl on horseback. As we loped slowly 
past her, she smiled at my companion, and he 
called out to her, ‘ Hello, Sis, don’t fall off 
and get hurt ! ’ I snatched my hat off as he 
spoke, and almost forgot to put it on again. 
I was so rattled. Yes, — that was the girl. 
You have often declared that you believed I 
was born in the saddle. Well, I met my fate 
on horseback all right enough; that’s where I 
got my loco. And the funniest part of it is 
that I knew it beyond all doubt, in the instant 
she rode by us, and smiled past me at her 
brother! Oh, yes, he was her brother. But 
it didn’t stagger me a particle when he an- 
nounced the fact. I could think of nothing but 
her face, her smile, the way she sat that horse. 
‘ My sister just back from school at Sioux 
Falls. Been trying to break that fifteen-cent 
Indian pony all day yesterday and to-day.’ 
was all the explanation my companion gave me. 
But the next morning, as I was loafing in the 
post-office, glancing over a letter just received, 
she entered, and asked for a money order 


122 


A Gumbo Lily. 


blank. When she tendered a five-dollar bill, 
presently, to be changed, it seeeined the post- 
mistress, as usual, was out of small change. 
As no one else spoke up, I went forward with 
a fist full of coin. I changed the bill for her, 
and she changed the face of the map for me. 
With what sweet, quiet dignity she thanked me, 
but there, — there’s no use in telling you all that. 
The next time her brother wanted me to go up 
to his father’s house with him, he didn’t have 
to ask me a whole lot of times. I went, and 1 
went often. And the old man always seemed 
to be glad to see me. You see I stood on 
my pedigree with him. To a man like that, 
it’s not a matter of what I might be, but what 
my people were. My name — that’s the ticket 
— admits to grand stand or quarter stretch. 
The girl, I think, liked me from the first, and 
liked me for my simple self. She became more 
wonderful to me each time I saw her. I think 
she was loveliest, though, in her own home. 
Always so gracious and frank, and winning. 
Always dressed in some soft house dress, with 
a little flimsy white shawl about her shoulders 
— one of these beautiful, devilish cobwebby 
things, you know, that are always getting 
tangled on a fellow’s coat buttons when he 
hears somebody coming, — tangled so that he 
couldn’t undo it in a thousand years, and of 
such tough fiber that Hercules himself couldn’t 
break the thread. The girl with one little flirt 


Locoed. 


123 


of her fingers unloosens the thing instantly; 
of himself a man could never get it off of him 
without removing his coat. That little white 
shawl, — I can see, I can feel it yet ! ’’ 

The boy paused, losing himself for a moment 
in reminiscence. In the interval I bethought 
me of my cake and removed it from the oven. 
It was burned. 

Never mind. Auntie, I like it pretty 
brown,” Harry assured me. Sit down again 
now, and let me finish my tale of woe. I’ve 
got to tell you the whole thing now that I’ve 
begun, and then we’ll drop this subject for 
keeps. Though I loved this girl at first sight, 
you understand, I didn’t even comprehend the 
meaning of the word until one day, a week 
later, I approached the house and saw her on 
a locoed horse in danger of her life, trying to 
urge the animal forward and keep him from 
rearing over backwards. She thought the 
horse was stubborn, and was determined to 
break him. With one glance at the animal’s 
panting sides, frothing mouth, and blazing 
eyes, I knew it was a case of loco, — a disease 
of which the girl knew nothing. The loco is 
a plant, very poisonous, that the range horse 
sometimes eats — and goes mad. A bullet is 
the cure. The horse is taken with violent con- 
vulsions, — biting, rearing, and rolling in 
agony. But the first attack is never fatal. The 
fits come on at intervals of several days, so 


124 


A Gumbo Lily. 


that a locoed horse is often sold to the unsus- 
pecting stranger as perfectly sound. 

“ It was in this way one of the cowboys in 
the employ of the girl's father had recently 
come into possession of this horse, a beautiful 
big sorrel, and apparently worth twice the sum 
paid for him. W ell, quick as I could, I 
grabbed the horse by the head with both hands, 
and shouted to his rider to jump. This she 
did, but before she could get clear of the sad- 
dle the horse went down, struggling. I knelt 
on his head, till the girl got safely away, then 
the owner himself came running up, and with a 
forty-four ended the matter in an instant. 
‘ Locoed,' was all he said to me, then he hur- 
ried to the girl’s side full of anxious apology 
for having loaned her such a mount. But she 
assured him that he was not in the least to 
blame. And he was gratified for her kindness. 
You’d like those cowboys. Auntie. They are 
of all sorts, and the most of them a mighty good 
sort, I find. From his seat in the saddle, and 
his outfit when he rides into town, you can’t 
distinguish between the college-bred man who 
has been punching for a year, and the genuine 
article from the Texas plains who has but re- 
cently entered upon civilization and the use 
of an individual tooth-brush. They are all on 
a level, and a dead straight level it is, too. 

‘‘ Well, this fellow took himself off like the 
gentleman that he was^ and the girl and I went 


Locoed. 


125 


on into the house, where she insisted on ban- 
daging up a little scratch I had received on one 
huger. Then all of a sudden, her little hand 
got into mine, and I was telling her ‘ how it 
happened’ — how badly I was locoed, — how 
she alone could give me the Keely for it, when 
she whispered, ‘ But I don’t want to cure you 
of loving me.’ And then I kissed her hands, 
her hngers, one by one, and then her eyes, her 
hair, her throat, and then her lips!” 

The poor fellow was walking up and down 
before me as he talked, and I, overcome with 
emotion, sat silent, furtively dabbing at my 
eyes with a corner of my apron. 

“ When I left her that day, it was with the 
understanding that I should speak to her father 
that same evening. But I never got to see the 
old gentleman. Never got to see her again, 
for that matter. Just after supper that even- 
ing, I was thinking about my dearest’s brother, 
and wondering what he would think of the 
matter on hand, when a note was handed me, 
Avritten by the fellow’s wife, — she who had it 
in for me. It read : ' Sir, my husband has not 
been home since he went to business yesterday 
morning. I understand you have not been 
home recently, but as it was you who first 
turned him from his home and led him into 
evil ways, I shall insist upon your looking him 
up immediately on the receipt of this, and bring- 
ing him home.’ To be sure I was dumbfounded 


> 


126 A Gumbo Lily. 

at such an accusation, but there was only one 
thing to do. Feeling that it was something 
of a family affair to me, anyway, I grabbed my 
hat and began a tour of the town, — of the 
places in town I should have said. Two hours 
passed and I had not found him, when I ran 
across a mutual friend who said the fellow had 
been driving with a lady, had just returned to 
town and gone into a certain restaurant, the 
first I had visited in my search. And there a 
quarter of an hour later I found him, at supper 
with the fair biscuit juggler before mentioned, 
and another gay couple, friends of his com- 
panion. I saw at once that my man was in a 
bad way, scarcely able to sit in his chair in 
fact, the wind-up of a prolonged spree. Ap- 
proaching him, I asked him to come outside 
with me for a moment, telling him I had some- 
thing of importance to say. ' Nit,’ was all he 
would answer. Thinking possibly I might get 
him away when they had finished supper, I 
sat down near by, and waited. Presently an 
outer door opened, and a fat form came bil- 
lowing toward us. It was the injured wife, 
evidently grown tired of waiting for me to 
bring the recreant home. Just as" she entered, 
her husband was holding forth in a loud tone 
on matrimony in general and his own case in 
particular. ‘ I had heard that marriage was 
all a gamble anyhow, and I just thought I’d 
try a hand in the game.’ Here his eye fell on 


Locoed. 


127 


his wife advancing upon him, and with 
drunken deviltry he added : ‘ And that’s what 
the fates sent me, my friends,’ pointing at her 
with his finger, ‘ that’s what I drew.’ As he 
ended, the other man at the table turned to the 
wife with a maudlin laugh and made an insult- 
ing remark. Jumping to my feet, I requested 
him to apologize to the lady. He repeated his 
former remark. I struck him, knocking him 
from his chair to the floor. As I landed, he 
drew his gun and fired. The wife screamed, 
and turned fiercely upon me, crying, ‘ You have 
killed my husband.’ The bullet intended for 
me had struck her husband in the shoulder and 
dropped him. A wild melee ensued. The 
crowd was soon satisfied that the shooting was 
done by the drunken man, and in order to set- 
tle the matter quietly, I persuaded the one dep- 
uty present that the shot had been purely acci- 
dental. 

‘^Friends of the wounded man bore him to the 
father’s house, near by, followed by the wife, 
who still protested that I had done the shoot- 
ing; and she must have succeeded at once in 
convincing her father-in-law that I had caused 
all the trouble, for when a little later I pre- 
sented myself at the house to inquire after the 
wounded, the old gentleman himself met me 
at the door and informed me very curtly that 
I need never set foot in his house again, and 
that furthermore, if I ever presumed to speak 


128 


A Gumbo Lily. 

to his daughter again, I would be run out of 
the country. Think of that! I would have 
stretched him in his own doorway if he hadn’t 
been her father. As it was, I returned to my 
boarding-place and wrote to the girl a clear ac- 
count of the whole affair, begging her to ex- 
plain all to her father. This letter may never 
have reached her, for I received no reply. I 
went again to the house, only to be told by the 
servant girl that no one was to be admitted. I 
waylaid the old doctor. He said the sick man 
was not yet conscious, but would live. He had 
seen nothing of the daughter of the house. I 
wrote again, — no reply. Three days of that 
sort of thing, — writing, waiting, hoping, curs- 
ing, — and then I quit the town, unable to stand 
it longer. And that’s all. That’s my story.” 

“ Poor boy,” I said softly. “ But you 
haven’t mentioned the girl’s name, dear.” 

“ I hadn’t intended to. Auntie ; but it doesn’t 
matter, anyway. Her name is Berenidge — 
Gina Berenidge.” 

^^Gina Berenidge? Well!” 

The boy, lost in a day-dream, did not heed 
my exclamation of surprise. The name he 
had spoken was a very dear and familiar one to 
me, — the name of a girl who had crept into my 
heart a year before, — a new pupil, suffering 
from a fit of homesickness, at Fairview Sem- 
inary, of which I was then temporary matron. 
At that time she had promised to come and 


Locoed. 


129 


visit me during some vacation, if I would write 
to her just when to come. Now I saw my 
opportunity of patching up her affair and 
Harry’s. Not the first little matter of the kind 
I had ever adjusted. Nor, I trust, the last. 

** Harry, dear,” I said demurely, “ all you 
have told me is very sad truly. But I must 
urge you not to give way to depression. You 
must cheer up and seek diversion.” 

He laughed at me, pityingly, indulgently. 

“Oh, you foolish old woman! You don’t 
know ! ” was what he was thinking. 

“Now I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you, 
Harry,” I went on serenely. “ Within a week 
I shall have a guest, who will prove cheerful 
company for you.” 

“ Who ? The aged widow of that old stock- 
man who is always talking about her late hus- 
band’s fancy cattle. Polled Evil, as she calls 
them.” 

“No, indeed; a charming young girl in 
whom I became interested a year ago while I 
was matron for a few weeks at the seminary. 
It was while you were at college, Harry, and 
I’ve always wanted you to meet the girl.” 

“ Awfully kind of you, I’m sure,” he replied 
politely. “ But it will have to be a pretty 
smooth specimen if it interests me in any way.” 
And rising he stretched himself wearily. 

“ Well, if this girl should succeed in making 



9 


130 


A Gumbo Lily. 


you think life worth living, after all, what will 
you promise me, Harry ? 

Most any old thing. Til never smoke an- 
other cigarette as long as I live. How’s that ? ” 
he queried, fishing in his pocket for the little 
white papers that were my pet abomination. 

That’s all right,” I responded heartily. 
‘‘ Shall we shake on that ? ” 

For answer he merely gathered up both of 
my little wrinkled hands in one of his big 
brown ones and shook them solemnly up and 
down. 

I wrote a letter that afternoon and posted it 
myself. And a week later, as I stood on my 
piazza looking for some one, the front gate 
flew open and a lithe little figure danced up the 
walk and threw itself into my arms. 

“ Oh, you dear, dear woman ! How good 
you are! Does he know? And isn’t it won- 
derful how it has all turned out ? Nothing like 
it in a book, ever I ” 

Once inside the house, she told me all. How 
her father, very angry at his daughter-in-law’s 
version of the shooting affair, had locked her 
in her room, forbidden Harry the house, and 
intercepted all letters from each. How the 
brother at the close of the fourth day recovered 
sufficiently to tell a clear story of all that had 
occurred. The father’s anger was appeased, 
and she herself was waiting heart-broken for 
some news from Harry when my letter reached 


Locoed. 


131 

her. With her father’s consent she accepted 
my invitation at once. Harry was off hunting 
when she arrived, and she and I were seated 
at the tea-table when he returned. Little 
dreaming of her presence, he came striding 
through the dining-room on his way to the 
kitchen with his plump game-bag. Perceiving 
that I had company, he halted. 

This is my nephew, — Harry, — Miss Beren- 
idge,” I murmured. 

The boy dropped his game-bag and stood 
stockstill in the middle of the room. He 
seemed stricken dumb. Gina buried her sweet 
flushed face in her napkin for a second, then 
she turned to him impulsively and stretched 
out both her hands. Glancing out of the win- 
dow just then, I exclaimed suddenly, “If that 
old cat isn’t after my little chickens! I must 
ask you to excuse me for a moment,” and I 
darted from the room. 

When I returned a few minutes later, I 
coughed very discreetly just outside the dining- 
room door ; but I might have saved myself the 
trouble, for when I entered, his arms were still 
around her, her sweet face was still pressed 
against his old velveteen shooting jacket, and 
he was saying to me, in a queer husky voice, 
“ Come right here to us, you dear old Auntie. 
We don’t mind you 1 ” 


> J 




-U 


THE LITTLE RING. 

I AM just the same little shining circlet of 
gold, lying here at the bottom of the sea, as 
when the old god-mother bought me, years 
ago, for the first baby at the big house on the 
hill. But what changes I have seen, and what 
tales I might tell to the great world above me ! 

I remember that they hung me on a string 
about that first baby’s neck, until she grew 
large enough to keep me on her fat forefinger. 

Then I traveled with the years from one 
finger to another, till finally I rested on the 
slender third finger of the schoolgirl of six- 
teen. There I remained until one day there 
came a man who loved the maiden, and who 
displaced me with another band of gold that 
bore a single flashing stone. For two long- 
years I was laid away in a tiny velvet box, sigh- 
ing for freedom. Then one day I came to 
light and found myself on the chubby finger of 
a bouncing baby-boy, her son. 

I was his for many years. When he grew 
to manhood he hung me on his watch-chain, 
and treasured me, because I had been his 
mother’s. Often I heard him say, ‘‘ When I 
find a woman worthy to wear this ring, I will 
wed.” 


132 


The Little Ring. 


133 


The years passed. He became wealthy, 
famous. Many women fair and good came 
into his life, and went again, failing to reach 
his princely heart. But there came a night, 
one moonlit night, when he sat beside a wo- 
man, in an arbor, a woman beautiful beyond 
words, with eyes that were stars beneath the 
midnight masses of her hair, a mouth red with 
kisses, and a slow, sweet smile that shook the 
souls of men. 

There in the moonlight he knelt before her, 
and with impassioned words and kisses told her 
that he loved her, that she was the one woman 
in all his world. With hands that trembled he 
slipped me from his chain and placed me gently 
on the third finger of her left hand. And he 
kissed me when he had placed me there. “ This 
was my mother’s ” he said, softly, beneath his 
breath. 

For a year or more I rested on that slim 
white finger, guarding the wedding-ring after 
my love and she were one. 

She grew more beautiful day by day, and he 
loved her more and more. He was a king in 
his happiness and pride. 

Another man there was who came to see 
them often. And often, when my lord was ab- 
sent, he besought my lady to fly with him, to 
a happier life beyond the seas. Many times 
she told him no, many times she sent him 
from her, but there were tears in her eyes, al- 


134 


A Gumbo Lily. 


ways, and her face grew wan and white. And 
always he returned, when my lord was absent, 
and at last one night she went with him — with 
the Stranger. 

As she sat on the deck of the great ship that 
bore her far from home and honor, she spied 
me on her finger, guarding her wedding-ring. 
With a sob she stripped me from her finger 
and flung me into the waves. So here I lie 
at the bottom of the sea, the same little shin- 
ing circlet of gold. 

Better for her, and all who have worn me, 
were she lying with me here. 


BUT THE STARS SHONE. 

There were two of them on the piazza 
among the vines; their chairs were tete-d-tete. 
She need not have gone out into the dusk with 
him that evening, — she might have remained 
inside, by the blazing Rochester lamp, and read 
stories to the children (and him), with the 
mercury at the top of the tube and her weary 
heart in a whirl. But of the two evils she chose 
the greater, as a woman sometimes will. It were 
so cowardly always to choose the lesser, and 
then, too, on the piazza, away from the glare of 
light, the effect of the gown she was wearing 
might be less deadly. It was a six-cent calico 
she had fashioned herself, and it was black; 
but it had a vivid yellow stripe in it, — many 
vivid yellow stripes, that brought out a sus- 
picion of brick-red in the wearer’s sunburned 
cheeks, and lighted the listless hazel of her 
leyes, and made a glory — somehow — of the 
dull bronze of her hair. At intervals through 
the long feverish afternoon he had protested 
with eyes and lips that this was the most beau- 
tiful gown she had ever worn. Now in the 
growing dusk he could merely distinguish the 
slight form in the big chair before him. But 

135 


136 


A Gumbo Lily. 


it was her figure, — her presence, — so very near 
— so very far ! 

The girl, herself, was conscious of the silent 
force in the other chair ; the white insistency of 
the man’s face lit by the steady glow of his ci- 
gar smote upon her, and she began quickly to 
talk politics — refuge safe and sure. Unhesi- 
tatingly, naively, she aired her views on the 
weighty questions of the day. He listened 
kindly. She even coined a new name for the 
bolters at St. Louis, and he laughed indul- 
gently. Had she advocated free lead he would 
have applauded. Her every utterance was to 
him an inspiration, — nothing less. Not that 
he groveled, — not that he had descended from 
his high plane of common sense. But, in the 
years he had loved this girl, he had come grad- 
ually and unconsciously to exalt her to such 
an height, that to him all her thoughts were 
wonderful, all that she saw and did was right. 

I observe that one of our greatest charac- 
ter readers,’^ she struggled on, has said, re- 
cently, of B that his is a nature that no 

woman has ever swayed.” 

Then he is not a man ! ” Her companion 
laid his cigar on the railing and leaned for- 
ward. His hand gripped the arm of her chair. 
“ I don’t feel like smoking to-night — I ” 

Oh, but the mosquitoes are so very thick, 
and you were smoking them away, really ! ” 
The girl’s voice expressed her dread of mos- 


But the Stars Shone. 137 

quitoes. The man resumed his cigar, and with 
it his thread of the conversation. 

“ He is no man, I say, if he has never yet 
been subject to a woman. I have never been 
dominated by anything else — but a wonian, in 
all my life, — one woman — you.” 

Pray let us not go into all that again,” she 
said gently. 

“ And it was just six years ago,” he went on, 
as though she had not spoken, “ that I came 
under your control for all time.” 

So long?” 

‘‘ So long ! A big slice out of a woman’s life, 
six years.” 

“Yes, I am not the same girl who tramped 
the prairies with you, and gathered flowers 
and cared for nothing save to live ! ” 

“ You are the same, — you know men better, 
that is all, — and you are less venturesome, be- 
cause you are more wise. There was a way 
you had of looking up into a man’s face in those 
days, Della, that would have made a dead man’s 
heart beat warm ! ” 

“ But I knew no better. I — I am wiser now, 
— thanks.” 

“ It was down There among the Bijon Hills 
that I first realized you were a woman — do you 
remember how it happened ? ” She remem- 
bered, with a sudden ache at her throat. She 
said nothing. “Do you remember?’’ His 
cigar was gone for good this time — his arm 


138 A Gumbo Lily. 

was thrown across the back of her chair, his 
face on a level with hers. 

‘‘ You don’t mean that time the rest of the 
party left us, and went home and forgot us, and 
it grew dark and began to rain — and we were 
miles from home?” 

“ No, you were just a little girl that night — 
a tired, plucky little girl — under my protection. 
I would have carried you home in my arms I 
believe.” 

“ You did carry me across the creek,” she in- 
terposed. 

“ Yes, but the time I have reference to was 
later on. You and I had gone after some 
plums in the ravine above camp. We had 
turned homeward, and were climbing some 
bowlders. I had gotten over first and stood 
awaiting your pleasure. You had refused my 
assistance, had climbed to the topmost rock, 
and sat there looking down at me, smiling into 
my eyes. All of a sudden you held out your 
arms to me like a tired child to be lifted to 
the ground. Then I knew you were a woman. 
Then my dream began.” 

“ But I had only recently come into a real- 
ization of my womanhood,” said the girl as if 
in extenuation. “ And being a woman, of 
course I must needs let you see I was one. 
Aside from that, I thought it might be as well 
to forewarn you.” 

“ Forewarn me ! Della, when you have 


But the Stars Shone. 


139 


aimed a loaded weapon at a man’s heart and 
have pressed the trigger, that is no time to 
warn him. The bullet has sped.” 

The girl laughed, nervously, and was silent. 

“ That sort of thing,” he went on, “ is done 
in an instant, you know. That one look, that 
one little movement of yours — and it had hap- 
pened.” 

His face was very close to hers now. What 
should she do with this man ? Should she look 
up into his eyes — in the old way — that meant 
anything or everything — as she chose? Or 
should she turn from him with the little ges- 
ture of disgust that would separate them wide 
as the poles ? 

She played with a bunch of pale petunias in 
her belt. He had asked her if she would give 
him a flower earlier in the evening, and she 
had shaken her head in playful negative. Her 
younger brother now burst out upon them 
to say good night, banging the screen door be- 
hind him. He kissed his sister vociferously, 
over and over again, then disappeared. The 
man leaned back again in the shadow of the 
wild cucumber vines, and rested his head on 
his hand, wearily. 

Two sisters of the girl wandered out to them 
presently, asked if she thought it was going to 
storm, and then drifted off to the ham- 
mock. 

I’m afraid Tve got a touch of the blues to- 


140 


A Gumbo Lily. 


night, Della; Fm sorry if Fve worried you.’’ 
The man’s voice was pitifully tender. 

“ Not at all.” The girl struck a conven- 
tional note for which she hated herself. It is 
I who should be sorry.” 

‘‘ But I don’t want you to be sorry for me ! ” 
— fiercely. And I don’t mean to whimper — 
remember that! Only you don’t know how 
hard it is for a man to lose that which is more 
to him than life — without which life itself is 
nothing! ” 

Can one lose something one has never pos- 
sessed? ” — softly. 

Yes. The dream was mine, the hope.” 

Bending toward her again, he told her what 
that dream had meant to him, what that hope 
had embodied. Into the tenderness of her wo- 
man’s heart his words cut like a knife, and, 
strange to say, the softer the words the sharper 
the thrust they gave. All the hopelessness of 
his passion, — all the longing, — could she bear 
to hear it again? Her restless eyes scanned 
the calm of the sky. She wondered vaguely 
if the angels looking down were not weeping. 
And the man ? It was night, and there was no 
moon. But the stars shone. The stars of 
kindness with which she had gemmed his zen- 
ith.. 

“ Ah ! why were you kind ? ” The old cry 
rushed to his lips, but he forced it back into 
his heart. Better the kindness, the tenderness 


But the Stars Shone. 141 

she had vouchsafed him than absolute dislike, 
or, more dreadful still, indifference. He had 
her respect, her companionship, her confidence, 
much that she had given no other man. 

And the girl is questioning her heart. 

Shall I give him these pale petunia blossoms ? 
There are warm red roses blooming in my 
heart, but he who might pluck them comes not. 
And life is short. Better far give what I can 
to this noble-hearted man, — honor and affec- 
tion. Better far accept his royal love than live 
a loveless life. Yes, I will give him the 
flowers and myself. One little movement, and 
it will all be over, forever. Forever? 

At the thought her heart stands still. She is 
frightened. She crushes the frail blossoms in 
her hand and lets them fall to the floor. Then 
straightening up in her chair, as from a long 
reverie, she manages to say in a kind ordinary 
tone of voice, “ Tm afraid those girls will catch 
cold out there in the hammock, there is such a 
heavy dew to-night. Shall we go and persuade 
them to come in ? ” 

As they walked toward the hammock a 
sudden feeling of pity seized her. She touched 
him gently on the arm. Please don’t be blue 
any more,” she whispered. “ It hurts me so.” 

I’ll try,” he answered. ‘‘ Forgive me, will 
you?” 

Forgive me,” breathed the girl. 

In the glare of the morning sunlight two 


142 A Gumbo Lily. 

chairs on the piazza stood pushed apart, and 
between them lay a bunch of withered flowers. 
The girl looked down on them with contempt. 

“ I am glad I did not give him those last 
night,” she murmured. “ He deserves some- 
thing far better than those pale, pitiful things. 
He is so grand, so good ! And how lovely he 
was to me. Some woman will give him red 
roses out of her heart, some day. I wish I 
might be that woman ! ” 

There came a brief note from him that even- 
ing: “ I am going West for a while. Write 
to me? Good-by.” And the girl knew not 
that the strange sensation the receipt of this 
produced upon her was the first heart-ache of 
her life. 

With some natures love is a plant of tardy 
growth. It was not until he had been absent 
several months that she realized how empty 
her life would be if he were never to return. 
She loved him with the intensity of that love 
which is not lightly given. And this he would 
have discovered from her letter telling him that 
she missed him and asking him to tell her more 
about himself, his occupation, and everything 
he was doing when next he wrote. But he was 
a man and could not read between the lines. 
He wrote her that he was working very hard, 
developing some mining property, and could 
not say when he would return. Therefore, 
she was startled one afternoon when he walked 


But the Stars Shone. 143 

into the house unannounced, to find her alone 
in the sitting-room, dreaming of him. 

“ Why,” she exclaimed, starting forward to 
greet him, then seized with shy confusion, 
could say no more. After kind inquiry about 
her health and that of the family, he said : “ I 
think you are looking wonderfully well. Some 
one wrote me you were thin and pale. I don't 
believe I ever saw you with such good color.” 

Her eyes fell. “ It is very warm in here,” 
she said. Presently, with a furtive glance at 
his face, she remarked : ‘‘ I am afraid you 

have been working too hard. You are looking 
far from well.” 

He smiled at her and said nothing. 

How handsome he is,” she thought. “ But 
so wan and hollow-eyed, dear heart ! ” — “ Why 
have you worked so hard and worn yourself 
out ? ” she ventured in sweet severity of tone. 

‘‘ You know,” he answered simply, and 
smiled again. 

'' What decided you to return so much 
sooner than you expected ? ” she asked politely. 

You know,” he repeated, and her eyes fell 
beneath his glance. 

“ Well, I am very glad you have come, at 
any rate,” she remarked presently. “ I know 
you would have been ill had you continued 
at such hard work.” 

The man’s face grew suddenly very grave. 
Crossing the room, he stood before her. “ Tell 


144 


A Gumbo Lily. 


me,” he exclaimed, why should you care how 
much I work, — how ill I look ? ” 

She was silent, examining the nails on one 
of her slender hands very attentively. Stoops 
ing, he seized both her hands in his strong 
grasp. Tell me, little woman, why do you 
care ? ” 

Slowly, very slowly, she lifted her eyes to 
his. '' You know,” she whispered. 


AS PROHIBITED. 


It was midnight. I was sitting alone in my 
fiancees parlor, the gas turned low, searching 
furtively through all my pockets for a clove. 

I had just had the extreme felicity of con- 
ducting my prospective father-in-law to his bed 
after an evening with the boys, and now waited 
to make my usual “ town banquet, too much 
rare-bit ” report to his wife, local leader of the 
W. C. T. U. She and her daughter, the servant 
said, v/ere only just returned from a temper- 
ance lecture and reception following. My 
eyes wandered vaguely about the room. Were 
there two portraits of Neal Dow gazing at me 
from the mantel ? I shook myself. Would it 
break the back of the Louis Quinze chair on 
which I sat, if by chance I leaned my head 
upon it? 

In truth I was very dizzy. In going about 
with the old gentleman, as in duty bound, I 
had felt constrained to “ join in ” with him 
occasionally in order to keep in his good graces, 
and the various beverages we sampled in drug 
shops and back rooms were so highly doctored, 
that I could not have sworn, as I managed to 
guide him home, at 1 1 130 P. M., whether I was 
steering or being steered. 

10 


145 


A Gumbo Lily. 


146 

As I sat there, in that state, in that strong- 
hold of prohibition, dreading the entrance of 
my mother-in-law to be, and that of my 
fiancee as well (dear little rosy-cheeked bigot), 
the door opened softly, and the small boy of the 
household tiptoed into the room. 

“ Hullo ! ” he whispered, pa’s got ’em 
again, in great shape, and ma’s a-doctorin’ for 
Welsh rare-bit ! Ain’t it rich ? And say, look 
here,” producing a pint bottle from under his 
coat, “ don’t give us away, will you, but me an’ 
Tom Jones sneaked Old Riley’s bottle that he 
keeps in the barn so his wife won’t smell it, and 
we’ve got permission to sleep in the loft to- 
night, and won’t we have a high old ” 

“ You’ll do nothing of the sort,” I inter- 
rupted, bracing myself mentally and speaking 
softly but firmly. “ Give me that bottle ! ” I 
pocketed it. then I grasped the boy by the arm. 
“ Dickie, I’m ashamed of you. Don’t you know 
it’s wrong to steal? And, anyway, what do 
you want with the poison?” tapping my 
pocket. “ Anybody can drink the stuff, Dickie, 
any man, or kid, or fool, that wants to ; there’s 
nothing smart in doing it. Dead right, Dickie, 
there’s nothing cute about it.” Dick began to 
wriggle beneath my grasp. You must prom- 
ise me before I let you go that you’ll not fool 
with the stuff again, or I shall have to inform 
your parents.” 

If you do,” in fierce whispers, “ I’ll tell 


As Prohibited. 


147 

Sis I saw you go down under the hill last 
night ! ” 

“ Very well, I can explain to her that I went 
there in search of my sister’s boys,” I replied. 

There was a movement beyond the portiere. 

“ They’re coming,” breathed the boy. 

Lemme go. I’ll promise ! ” I released him 
and he disappeared through the hall door, as 
his mother and sister entered from the dining- 
room. Rising, I bowed to the ladies, my hand 
on my heart to keep the bottle from leaving my 
breast pocket. 

“ Thank you so much, Charlie, for coming 
home with papa,” exclaimed Dollie. Then she 
smiled at me in a way she has, that made my 
heart beat hard, so hard that I wondered if any 
one heard the whisky sloshing in the bottle. 

“ Yes, it was very good of you,” added the 
mother. He seems to have a worse attack 
than usual. Welsh rare-bit, did you say it was ? 
Dear me, with his apoplectic tendencies, he 
ought to be more careful. Yes, he is a trifle 
easier now, thanks ; I’ve got a mustard plaster 

on his stomach and But you don’t look 

so very well, Charlie? ” 

Oh,” I replied, ‘‘ I have— er — been overdo- 
ing a bit of late,” which was true. 

Just here the elder son of the family enters, 
pen in hand. 

Good evening, Charlie ; thought I heard 

your voice. Would you just as soon step over 


148 A Gumbo Lily. 

into the library a moment and witness a paper 
for me ? ” 

At these words there is a low groan from 
the adjoining bedroom, and mother and 
daughter fly to the father. 

“ Poor old governor/’ chuckled the elder son 
beneath his breath, he heard my invitation, 
didn’t he? Too far gone to join us, though. 
Say, I’ve got some of the genuine,” leading 
the way to the library. 

“ I can’t swallow another drop to-night,” 
I protest. 

But I want you to taste it ; you must. 
Keep it in quantities now. Wanaday’s drug- 
store stuff would kill me off in a month. Bad 
habit, you say, having it always on hand? I 
know it, but there’s nothing else for it, and, 
anyway, this is fine.” 

I find the mother in the parlor on my return 
a moment later. She says : “ I left Dollie with 
her father, and came to say good night, Charlie. 
I am very tired ; it has been a hard day for me. 
This morning, early, I was called down to 
Mrs. Smith’s to help care for the little girl. 
You know she was burned frightfully. And 
her father drinks so ! ” 

‘‘How did it happen?” I ventured. 

“ Oh, the child was alone in the house, and 
got to playing with the gasoline stove.” 

“ Where was the mother ? ” 

She, poor woman, was down-town attend- 


As Prohibited. 


149 

ing a mothers’ meeting. She’s such a worker 
in every good cause.” 

I suppressed a groan lest it might end in a 
hiccough, while she continued her recital. 

“ Then, this afternoon, with some other 
women, I succeeded in raiding that place under 
the hill. We had waited long enough for the 
marshal to do it. Yes, while the proprietor was 
out boot-legging, we managed to empty twenty- 
five kegs of beer on the ground, in spite of the 
wife’s threats and cries. Oh, the great work 
is progressing. See what a change even now, 
and the day is not far distant when there’ll not 
be a drunken man on our streets, or a whiff of 
alcohol in God’s pure air. Well, good night; 
I must to bed, though I fear dear John will let 
me have little rest. But I’ll not complain. 
Think of some women’s husbands who come 
staggering home intoxicated ! Oh, I could never 
live through that, never. Good night.” 

As the mother retired, Dollie entered, hold- 
ing out both hands. “ I must say good night, 
too, Charlie. It is late. I canvassed the town 
to-day, with the druggist’s wife, getting signers 
to vote against resubmission, you know. Got 
five hundred names, think of it ! ” 

I held both of her little hands, those soft, 
warm hands, in mine.- The insidious sweetness 
of her personality pervaded my heart, my 
brain. 

“ A man would sign anything for you,” I 
exclaimed, 


A Gumbo Lily. 


150 

“ W ould he ? archly. Would you ? ’’ 

Darting from me, she produces a paper and 
pencil and holds it toward me, without a word. 
I take it, hesitatingly. “ This thing is dead 
against my principles, Dollie, but, if you wish 
it 

She lifts her head in high dignity. To be 
sure I wish it,” she said. 

Silently I affix my signature. 

Thanks,” she murmurs, with a little sigh 
of satisfaction. You are so good, Charlie. 
By the way, can you come up for an hour in the 
morning? ” 

I smiled in proud elation. Never before had 
she asked me to visit her in the morning. 

“ Certainly, for any number of hours,” I re- 
plied. 

“ You see I am to edit this month^s issue of 
the Truth Dealer, and I want you to help me 
correct a few statistics.” 

‘‘ United States statistics ? ” 

Yes, dear,” smoothing back the hair from 
my forehead. I lift my eyes to heaven. Has 
it come to this? 

But I really must not keep you any longer,” 
she suddenly exclaims. “ You look so worn 
and tired. Dear boy, you have been overdoing 
of late. 

“ Just a trifle.” I smile wearily, and my face 
doubtless is ghastly. 

‘‘ Charlie, dear, I hate to have you leave 


As Prohibited. 


151 

the house looking so pale and weak. Wait 
a moment,” hastily uncorking a bottle taken 
from a little writing-desk in a corner of 
the room, from which she deftly pours 
me a generous drink of brandy. Here, 
you must take this right down. I in- 
sist. I know it’s not very nice to taste, and I 
know you would never take anything of the 
sort, not even when the town was full of saloons 
and you could easily get it; but really there 
are times when a little stimulant is necessary 
and beneficial. Ever since I had that cough 
last spring my doctor has advised me to take 
a little something whenever I felt tired or weak. 
And I am careful to have only the purest, from 
the Red Front drug-store — Ned’s Best, they 
call it.” 

Struggling with an hysterical desire to 
laugh, I collapse in my chair. Dollie, thor- 
oughly frightened, holds the spirits to my lips. 

“ Charlie, I beg of you to take this quickly. 
Oh, I didn’t realize how nearly worn out you 
were! How very fortunate that I had this in 
the house I ” 

I managed to toss it off, like a little man, 
with a sly wink at Old Dow on the mantel, and 
a gurgled “ Thank you,” to Dollie. 

Dollie, grasping the flask and her list of pro- 
hibitionists in one hand, pats my face softly 
with the other, murmuring, “ Poor, dear boy.” 

Finally I rise, straighten myself out, and kiss 


152 


A Gumbo Lily. 


her good night, thinking the while of how fer- 
vently she had recited a few nights before to 
a crowded audience, “ Lips that touch liquor 
shall never touch mine.” 

“ Sure you’re feeling better, now ? ” she asks 
anxiously. So glad. Good night.” 

'' Good night,” I answer, with my lips 
against hers. Then I sight swiftly along a 
stripe in the hall-carpet, reach the front door, 
and stagger from the house. 


WHEN MOTHER MARRIED. 


I WAS but nine years old, my brother seven, 
when the old home among the Virginia hills 
was sold at auction, the goat disposed of, the 
pet dog given away, and we turned our faces 
westward, with our widowed mother, who was 
to battle with the world for herself and children, 
single-handed and alone. Though my father 
had died several years before, he was still the 
idol of my childish heart, and it was with fierce 
anger and resentment that I heard people say of 
my mother, “ Oh, yes, she will marry again, 
there’s no doubt of that. She’s so young and 
beautiful and talented, it’s not probable that 
she will live out her life alone.” 

Now, I had read many stories for one of my 
years, and the idea I possessed of stepfathers in 
general had been gleaned principally from the 
realms of fiction, and I was firmly convinced 
that no greater calamity could befall me or my 
brother than the acquisition of a new father. So 
I had set my little head and heart against such 
a possibility with all the passionate stubborn- 
ness of my nature. 

I worshiped my mother. To me she was the 
most beautiful woman in the world and the 

153 


154 


A Gumbo Lily. 


cleverest. To be sure, everybody loved her. 
Why should they not? But that was not say- 
ing she must marry again, just because she 
was so good and lovable, — or because she was 
poor, or felt sorry for some man, or thought 
her children needed a father’s care. We didn’t 
need a father. We didn’t need anybody but 
her. And what if we were poor? We would 
get along. Brother was growing up, he would 
take care of us soon. And I — I would teach, 
or work out,” or beg from door to door, 
rather than let her marry. Each night when I 
had breathed my “ Now I lay me,” I added a 
little prayer of my own, God bless mama and 
make us good, and keep her safe, and don’t let 
her marry a man ! ” Straightway the pretty 
mother captured the big, brave Western 
hearts in the flourishing little frontier town 
where we located. In a few weeks’ time she 
had started a Sunday-school, a literary society ; 
had become associate editor of the Riishville 
Rustler, and found herself being referred to 
and deferred to in many important enterprises, 
public and social. 

“ You’ve got a mighty remarkable woman 
for your mother, little girl,” old Richard Jones 
said to me one day, apropos of nothing, as I 
was gathering prairie flowers near his house. 
Jones was sole proprietor of the town-site, mill- 
site and thousands of surrounding acres. He 
was public-spirited and popular. To me, he 


When Mother Married. 155 

was only an old wrinkled man, who wore home- 
made broadcloth trousers, with white china 
buttons instead of suspender buttons, who pre- 
sumed to “ pay attention ” to my mother. And 
I promptly hated him. The talented young 
missionary, too, who gave us a service once a 
week, had his eye on her. “ Sonny,” he said 
to brother one windy morning, as he was leav- 
ing for a neighboring town, driving a pair of 
pKinging, rearing bronchos, “ can you tell me 
who is that charming young lady, who sits 
with you in church, and leads in the responses?” 

.She’s our mother,” and my brother glanced 
at me. Standing to the windward of his buck- 
board, I was engaged in deliberately open- 
ing some dried milkweed pods I had just gath- 
ered for a cushion, and was letting the feathery 
fluffy stuff drift all over the back of the rough 
tweed coat he wore. 

“Is it possible?” he ejaculated. “Such 
large children! I certainly must meet her the 
next trip.” And loosening up on the reins a bit, 
the bronchos jerked the buck-board down the 
street and out of town. 

Then there was that handsome smiling real 
estate agent who drove her about in his dog- 
cart showing her various places about the 
country that might be of interest to her Eastern 
eyes. He too would bear watching. On the 
whole my hands were full. 

Of her numerous correspondents there were 


156 A Gumbo Lily. 

but two that gave me any alarm, — a wealthy 
old bachelor in Washington, D. C., who be- 
sought her unceasingly to share with him the 
gay life at the Nation’s Capital; and a young 
widower, out in the Black Hills, whom she 
had known as a girl in Virginia, and who 
pleaded his loneliness, and his need of her in 
every letter. I read all her letters, quite as a 
matter of course. When a lady friend remon- 
strated with her for permitting me to do this, 
she only smiled in that sweet way of hers, and 
said, I owe the child that much. She loves 
me so, — and she worries always over my little 
affairs. She is old and thoughtful beyond her 
years, you know; she has been alone with me 
so much.” 

Well, Fd never stand anything like that 
from a child of mine ! ” was the lady friend’s 
reply. 

The long cold winter came and went, my dear 
charge passing in safety through all the festiv- 
ities of the season. Smiling impartially on all 
her admirers, no one of them seemed nearer 
than the others. But she was growing rather 
thin and pale, people said. I noticed one day, as 
she smoothed my hair, that her wedding-ring 
slipped back and forth on the slim white finger 
as she moved her hand. She was writing, late 
at night. Western sketches for Eastern period- 
icals, to eke out her slender income. She is 
working too hard, I told myself, and my heart 
ached. 


When Mother Married. 


157 


With the coining of warm weather the old 
bachelor from Washington arrived on the scene. 
He came to investigate a star route but recently- 
started, through the country to the West of us, 
he said. But I knew what he came for. And I 
knew that he went away without it, too, as I 
watched him board the East-bound stage, one 
soft spring morning, his face haggard and set. 
My spirits leaped in delight, only to sink again, 
however, as I neared home a few moments 
later and saw the young missionary halt his 
ponies before our porch. These particu- 
lar bronchos were even learning to stop at 
our door without the preliminary rearing and 
pawing at the lattice-work which ran round 
our little porch. “ It’s getting to be an old 
story to them, now,” I thought with a sigh. 

At last Rushville was to have a railroad. 
Ever since the frost had left the ground gangs 
of men were at work completing the few re- 
maining miles of grade. Great times, a great 
boom, was predicted. I wondered if the prom- 
ised flood of prosperity would bring us cheaper 
provisions and some easy work for mother, or 
would it just fill the town with strangers who 
would fall in love wih her? For that one dread 
was ever before me. No wonder I grew more 
and more morbid. No wonder, people looking 
into my little pinched face and great restless 
dark eyes, would remark to my mother, “ You 


A Gumbo Lily. 


158 

have a very strange little daughter, — so unlike 
other children/' 

But it was not the iron-horse, after all, that 
brought the Conquering Hero, — when at last 
he came. It was on a scarred mustang, of 
noted endurance, reeking from a forty-mile 
jaunt, that he dashed into town, and up to the 
hotel, issuing therefrom, a half-hour later, 
to make a call on my mother. I soon learned 
that he was a New Yorker by birth, a widower 
with two young children. He had spent many 
years in the West, and was a successful ranch- 
man and real estate speculator. Some weeks 
before he had met my mother at Sioux Falls, 
where she was spending the day with friends. 
He was charmed and rode away. But here at 
last was something from which he could never 
ride away. That face with its rare smile, its 
earnest tender eyes, danced ever before him as 
he rode. So at Lemars he mounted a fresh 
horse and rode back again, learned where she 
lived, and straightway went to see her. “To 
woo her," he afterward said. And woo her he 
did, in masterful fashion. There was a quiet 
force about the man that even I could not fail 
to appreciate. His tall, athletic figure, kind, 
firm face, and his deferential bearing toward all* 
women were danger signals, that flared before 
my apprehensive eyes. “ This is the man, if 
any," I speedily told myself. 

Every day found him at the house helping 


When Mother Married. 


159 


her with her work or listening to her read. 
Every evening, almost, stretching himself on 
the little porch, she seated near him, he told 
her stories of his life. And presently her 
friends began to joke her pleasantly on the New 
Yorker’s devotion. The children at school 
sought to tease me on the subject. One boy in 
particular, my especial slave, whose attentions 
had for some time made me envied by all other 
girls in school, said to me one day, “ Well, how 
do you think you are going to like your new 
daddie?” Blinded with tears, choking with 
mortification, I turned my back on him, and the 
next day at recess I returned to him, without 
explanation, all the sticky, but love-laden candy- 
hearts he had given me, and all the treasured 
notes in cypher that he had written me during 
school hours. Nor was there further inter- 
course between us. 

Meanwhile the cause of all my woes did not 
return to his ranch. Sending for his gun and 
dogs and driving ponies, he took up his quarters 
at the hotel, prepared to make a siege of it, as 
some one who knew him well remarked. My 
mother’s attitude alarmed me, as the summer 
passed. She seemed less gracious to other 
gentlemen who called on her, she wore prettier 
gowns about the house, and she sang of morn- 
ings as she prepared our simple breakfast. Into 
her eyes there came that mystic glow of happi- 
ness that I had not seen there for years, on her 


i6o A Gumbo Lily. 

lips the smile of girlhood. What did these 
things portend? 

One soft morning in September I was polish- 
ing a vase that had belonged to my father, and 
which I always kept filled with flowers in 
summer. Thinking of my father, in a sudden 
impulse, I pressed my lips to the vase with all 
the feeling of which I was capable. My mother,, 
noting the act, chided me gently for what 
seemed an exhibition of morbid sentiment. 

You no longer love him,’^ I cried in my 
heart, as I trudged off to school, swinging my 
lunch basket. As soon as school was dismissed 
that night, I fairly flew home, fearing I knew 
not what. Gasping for breath, I burst into 
the sitting-room, to find the New Yorker there 
sitting near my mother, who was sewing, her 
eyes shining, her cheeks flushed, looking pret- 
tier than I had ever seen her. 

“What is the matter, dear?^^ she asked. 

“ Nothing,” I replied, “ got a little fright- 
ened at something — that’s all.” Removing my 
hat, I calmly seated myself. The other occu- 
pants of the room exchanged glances. I had 
entered at an inopportune moment, evidently. 

“ I wonder if brother will think to go down 
for the mail, dear? ” mother exclaimed sweetly. 

I was silent. I did not offer to go for the 
mail. 

“ I wish the boy was here. I’d send him after 
a pound of. candy,” the man observed presently. 


When Mother Married. i6i 

flipping a half-dollar on the tip of his fingers. 
I did not lift my eyes from the carpet. It was 
a beautiful carpet to my mind, a relic of better 
days. The pattern was one of huge roses, 
among which wound many an intricate path 
down which my childish fancy often led me to 
some far flowery paradise where moths did not 
corrupt nor lovers break in and steal my 
mother. 

Now, I bethought me suddenly of some 
simple crochet work that I had not touched for 
weeks. Deliberately, silently, I stalked to my 
little work basket in the corner, found the piece 
of work, resumed my seat with a loud sigh, 
and fell to crocheting as if for my very life. 
The man, with a queer glance at mother, got to 
his feet and looked out of the window for a 
moment, whistling softly, then walked back and 
sat down again. “ W ould you mind reading 
me that little poem we were discussing?” he 
asked. A half-hour later, as she was still read- 
ing in that soft voice of hers that was sweeter 
than any music to my ears, he listening with 
his soul in his eyes, I crocheting with all my 
might, the sound of wheels outside heralded 
the approach of visitors. 

Then, and not till then, did I slip from my 
chair and leave the room. As I vanished, the 
reading ceased, and I heard him whisper, while 
I reached for my hat near the door, How 
jealously that little thing guards you, and with 

II 


i 62 


A Gumbo Lily. 


what fierce intensity she loves you! I never 
saw anything like it. My heart fairly aches 
for her. I believe she suffers.'' 

Lonely, restless, I wandered off to the edge 
of the town where I found brother shooting 
gophers. But I could not look for sympathy 
from him. The Conquering Hero had long 
since won the boy's heart with the gift of a 
revolver and the promise of a pony. My affec- 
tion, nay my tolerance, could not be purchased, 
as he found to his despair. One day drawing 
me gently upon his knee, he asked me if I 
wouldn't like a trip to New York, and a piano 
and a new little brother and sister. To all of 
which I vouchsafed a chokey “ No, thank you.’' 
As I slipped away from him with an Excuse 
me, please," he shook his head. “ Little one, 
you are the only child I ever knew who didn't 
like me," he said, and I knew by his voice that 
he was grieved. The night of the big prairie 
fire I came near liking him a little, for he it 
was who came riding into town about dark 
with news of bad fires to the west of us. And 
he it was who roused the leading citizens in hot 
haste to the necessity of making fire-brakes 
and back fires. A little after sunset the wind 
had changed, and was blowing a gale from the 
west. The town became enveloped in a fog of 
smoke, and soon the awful noise of fire, with 
an increasing roar, came sweeping down upon 
us, snapping and snarling in its fury. Only 


When Mother Married. 163 

the wise precautions the Conquering One had 
caused to be taken saved our little town from 
being utterly wiped out. 

As brother and I stood with mother amongst 
the crowd of people, watching the flames leap- 
ing and writhing in the high swale grass along 
the western and southern borders of the town 
site, the Conquering One sought us out, to re- 
assure us, to tell us the danger was past. He 
was in his shirt-sleeves, his face blackened with 
smoke and dripping with perspiration, and he 
looked so worn and exhausted, and his voice 
was so low and tender as he spoke to mother, 
that I could not repress the involuntary 
thought, How good he is, and how brave and 
strong ! ” 

When he had left us, to finish distributing 
among the fire fighters the brooms and wet 
grain sacks with which all brands and sparks 
that had been blown across the breaking were 
to be swept and beaten out, some one standing 
near us began telling my mother of something 
the Conquering One had done in a fire years 
before. He had snatched a Russian settler’s 
wife and baby from certain death, it seems, by 
wrapping them in wet blankets and riding with 
them through the flames to safety. 

Ever after this I had to harden my heart 
against the man, deliberately. For I felt now, 
that to like him at all would be to yield to him 
eventually. And to admire him, respect him 


164 


A Gumbo Lily. 


even, seemed, to my little unhealthy mind, rank 
treachery to the memory of my father. And 
my fear of what might happen grew daily. 

I became more and more nervous and appre- 
hensive, until one afternoon, when he and my 
mother had gone driving together, I lost con- 
trol of myself completely. Sitting on the 
piazza, I watched them depart. They were 
going out into the burnt district, to carry some 
provisions and clothing to several families that 
the fire had left destitute, and they took with 
them dog and gun, telling me they would soon 
be back and promising me fried prairie chicken 
for supper. 

The buggy was not yet out of sight when 
the thought occurred to me, “ What if they 
should be going away to get married ! Oh, I 
must stop them, — I must go with them.” Call- 
ing at the top of my voice, I dashed after them, 
down the street and out of town, fast as my 
little spidery legs would carry me. The ob- 
jects of my pursuit neither heard nor saw me, 
sitting as they were in a top-buggy, three sides 
of which were closed to exclude the sun’s rays 
or the gaze of the curious. Driving on a slow 
trot, they kept a certain distance in advance of 
me. I did not gain on them in the least. Still 
on and on I ran, with a strength born of 
desperation, till, finally stumbling, I fell, in the 
burnt and blackened stubble by the roadside, 
and lay there, sobbing from exhaustion and 


When Mother Married. 


i6S 

despair. There, a few minutes later, a lady 
driving into town found me and took me 
home. 

What in the nation were you chasing them^ 
for, dear? They will soon be back,” she said, 
striving to soothe me. 

“ I — I — was afraid of something happen- 
ing to her,” I gasped. 

“ Nonsense,” she returned. What could 
happen to her? Those ponies are safe, — and 
there's no danger of a storm.” 

“ Not that,” I interrupted, — “ I was afraid 
she might marry him before she came back.” 

“ Oh, you foolish little girl ! ” and the good 
lady laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. 
“ They have only gone out hunting.” 

“ I know, but they might go on to Sioux 
Falls and get married. Oh, you don’t know 
what I do. You don’t know how sweet she is. 
And he’s so good, — I mean he loves her, and 
she’s so young yet, — and he wants her so ! ” 

By the time we reached the house the lady 
had succeeded in pacifying me somewhat, and 
when the hunters returned, toward evening, 
without a chicken, I was exploring a favorite 
haunt of mine in a bend of the Sioux, gather- 
ing the white and purple asters that had escaped 
the frost. 

But I think my mother learned of my alarm 
that day, for they always took me with them 
when they drove henceforth. He it was who 


A Gumbo Lily. 


1 66 

insisted upon my going. I think he was sorry 
for me. I always sat between the two on these 
occasions, my gaze riveted upon the buggy pole 
or the ponies’ ears, turning my head not the 
fraction of an inch to right or left. One 
evening, just at dusk, as we were nearing 
home after a long and to me very tiresome 
ride, he asked me if I did not wish to drive the 
rest of the way. My mother answered for me. 
‘‘ Oh, no,” she exclaimed, “ the ponies might 
be frightened and run.” The man laughed, 
and said nothing, but for the remainder of the 
distance he drove with one hand. I was filled 
with dire anxiety as to the location of his other 
hand and arm, and once I felt that he kissed 
her ! But not all the wealth of the Indies could 
have forced me to look behind me. When we 
reached the house, he jumped lightly to the 
ground, swung me from the buggy to the pi- 
azza steps, then turned to assist my mother, 
saying as he did so, Really, I must know 
to-night what I am to do. You shall decide for 
me. ril come at eight.” 

We youngsters were tucked into bed at an 
early hour that evening. 

But sleep was far from me. The bedroom 
mother and I shared adjoined the sitting-room, 
and when, finally, I heard the visitor arrive, 
filled with uncontrollable fear, I crept from bed 
and crouched against the sitting-room door, 
my temples beating, my heart in my throat. 


When Mother Married. 167 

What if he should persuade her to leave all and 
fly with him? I had read of such things so 
often. Long I huddled there in the darkness, 
listening, fearing. For a time she read to him, 
from a new book he had brought. Then I 
heard him rise and cross the room, and there 
followed a low, earnest conversation, but a por- 
tion of which was audible to me. ‘‘ I must go 
to the little ones,” I heard him say. “ My 
mother is growing too feeble to care for them 
longer, — and what I want to know, dearest, is 
whether I may bring them back with me. They 
need a mother’s care, and I need you, — oh, 
more than you can ever know.” I could not 
catch much that she said in reply, but I under- 
stood that she was asking him for time, to con- 
sider, to determine what would be right. “ In 
a week, then, may I know ? ” was the next 
question, and she answered “ Yes.” Then he 
talked like a book. He forgot himself, every- 
thing but her. You were made to be loved,” 
I heard him say. And it is nothing less than 
sin for one of your nature to live her life alone, 
with no one to love her or care for her.” I was 
indignant. ‘‘ No one to love her! ” I thought. 

She has brother and me. What more can 
she want ? And what does he know about her 
nature, anyway?” Overcome with misery, 
and self-pity, and fatigue, I began to cry, 
softly, under my breath, till presently I sobbed 
myself to sleep, crouching there against the 


i68 A Gumbo Lily. 

door, that seemed shutting me out forever from 
her I loved. 

There my mother found me an hour later. 
Gently rousing me, she led me back to bed, 
without a word. When she had disrobed and 
extinguished the light, and lain down beside 
me, all in silence, the soitow of it all rushed 
upon me with such force, that I crept into her 
arms and sobbed my heart out on her bosom. 

She pressed me close and patted me, gently, 
till the paroxysm had passed, then she said, 
her voice shaking, her tears dropping on my 
hair, “ Little daughter, do you want to break 
my heart? Why do you act so? Tell me 
what is the matter ? ” 

‘‘ Oh, Tin so afraid, all the time,’' I an- 
swered. Afraid I may lose you. And to- 
night I thought maybe he might take you 
away. They do sometimes, you know. And 
so I listened, — for fear, — and oh, Tm so un- 
happy.” 

“ Dearest,” she returned, you are un- 
reasonable, unkind. Can’t you believe that I 
will do what is best and right for you, always ? 
Can’t you trust your mother? Do you think 
she would ever go away and leave her chil- 
dren — that are more than life to her?” She 
soothed and reassured me in a measure, until 
I felt that I had been unreasonable ; and filled 
with a sudden sense of contrition, I kissed her 
dear cheek and eyes and throat, then turning 


When Mother Married. 169 

away from her, feigned slumber, in the hope 
that she might sleep, for I knew she must be 
weary. Long afterward I heard her sigh and 
turn, restlessly, on her pillow. And before I 
finally slept, I heard her murmur, in her 
prayers, “ O, help me to do what is right by 
my children, and by him. Help me to live up 
to this little one, help me to understand her.” 
Then, for the first time in my life, I felt the 
pangs of conscience, and all the following day, 
the following week, I was thoughtful and 
watchful of her comfort. I even assumed a 
surprising cheerfulness, when she announced, 
one Saturday morning, that she was going 
with a party of ladies and gentlemen to 
spend Sunday at the Conquering One’s ranch, 
and that she would take brother and me with 
her. 

I did not realize, at the time, what was in 
store for us. Nor, I think, did she. 

However, it all happened very quickly after 
the guests were assembled at the ranch. I pre- 
sume he saw his opportunity, and pleaded well. 
And she, no doubt, felt, that if she was to gfive 
him his happiness, the sooner it was done the 
better. 

Just before the ceremonv was performed, 
an elderly lady, a friend of mother’s, sought 
to prepare me for what was coming. I re- 
ceived the announcement in stony silence, as 
one who is stricken dumb by a thunder-clap. 


1 70 A Gumbo Lily. 

after watching the storm-clouds gathering for 
hours. 

My mother, her sweet face flushed, caught 
me to her heart for an instant. “ Be brave, 
dear. You want mama to be happy, don’t you ? 
And it is the best thing for us all. Trust me.” 

He laid his hand tenderly on my head and 
whispered, I’ll be very good to her, little one, 
and to you.” I said no word. There chanced 
to be a clergyman in the party, and it was soon 
over. I declined to be a witness. Stealing into 
an adjoining room, I set my teeth and gripped 
my little hands in agony, and told myself that 
the end of all things had come. I was too proud 
to shed a tear before all these people, and it was 
not till after the bride and groom had kissed 
me good-by, and boarded the south-bound 
train, for a brief wedding trip, consigning me 
to the care of the old clergyman and his wife, 
that the floodgates of grief were opened and 
some of my ?nguish spent itself in tears. 

Brother remained at our future home, fas- 
cinated with the ranch life, and wildly happy 
in the acquisition of a bald-faced, white-eyed, 
half-broken broncho, all his own. A week 
later, however, found me at the ranch, sur- 
rounded by everv comfort and kindness, re- 
solved to make the best of matters, for my 
mother’s sake. Not that I had become recon- 
ciled in the least. I simply forced myself to 
reside with them for a time, in order to be 


When Mother Married. 171 

near my mother, to see if he made her happy. 
If not 

At the same time I was determined that no 
one should pity me for having a stepfather; 
furthermore, no one must guess at my suffer- 
ing, or discover my heart-ache. So I held up 
my proud little head, and tried to appear quite 
at home in my new surroundings. 

But I would not try to love the man who 
had taken my mother from me, I would not 
call him father. I treated him with cold 
respect. Toward my mother I was ever kind 
and dutiful, but she saw that I still felt in- 
jured. However, she did not seek to coax me 
up in the least. Her sweet wisdom left it to 
time, and my own heart, to make matters right. 
T do not believe I passed a really happy mo- 
ment until the little stepbrothers were brought 
home from the East. There was a passionate 
love of children in my motherly little soul, and 
these youngsters of four and six crept into my 
wayward heart at sight. ‘‘ What if they should 
not like me ! ” I thought. In stories I had read 
the younger children always conceived a bitter 
hatred for the elder stepsister. Straightway 
I determined that these little ones should love 
me. They must never even be permitted to re- 
alize that I was only a stepsister. That would 
be dreadful, — common! 

So I shared with mother the care of the little 
boys, played with them, told them fairy tales 


I72 


A Gumbo Lily. 


by the hour, heard their “ Now I lay me ” when 
night came, and rocked them to sleep in my 
arms. One of them possessed a little red sled. 
On this, notwithstanding it was June, they 
must ride. So I dragged them for miles on that 
red sled, fearing if I did not they would dis- 
like me. And they, in great glee, called me 
their little girly-horse, and were never so happy 
as when with me. 

A year passed. My new father had not yet 
won my stubborn affection, but he was kind 
and patient toward me always, and to my 
mother he was still the devoted lover. Sweet- 
est,” he called her, and they were supremely 
happy. And now there had crept into her 
serene face and big shining eyes the dawning 
of a great hope and mystery. An old lady, 
famous as a nurse throughout the territory, 
came to make her home with us for a time. 
And I knew what portended. My stepfather 
seldom left the house. Always solicitous of 
my mother’s comfort and welfare, he was 
now peculiarly thoughtful and tender. This 
I was forced to acknowledge to myself. One 
day I overheard her say to him in speaking of 
me, ‘Mf anything should happen to me, dear, 
you will be patient with my little girl ? ” And 
then and there a swift realization of my selfish- 
ness came over me, and in fear and trembling, 
like many an older and braver mortal before 
and since, I straightway sought to make a little 


When Mother Married. 173 

compact with God. '' Father in Heaven, if you 
will but spare her to us, I will never be wicked 
and unkind and hateful any more.” This was 
my prayer by night and day. 

One bright Indian summer morning the little 
boys were sent away to a neighbor’s; and I went 
tiptoeing about a hushed and darkened house. 
Then it was that I looked upon a strong man 
in anguish, for the first time in my young life. 
My stepfather paced the little sitting-room, his 
fists clenched, his face white and drawn, await- 
ing the doctor’s verdict. For his dear one lay 
in great danger, the old nurse said. When he 
turned his haggard eyes upon me I was fright- 
ened. And my heart went out to him in a burst 
of pity. He loved her so! 

Slipping noiselessly from the room and across 
the hall, I listened breathlessly for a moment at 
the closed bedroom door. When I re-entered 
the sitting-room he did not notice me. I 
touched his hand. He looked up at me pity- 
ingly, “ Oh, child, she is leaving us,” he 
gasped. “ Sweetest is leaving us, — I know it. 
And you hate me now more than you ever 
did?” 

No ! No ! ” I choked forth IVe come 
to tell you — Fve been listening, — and the doc- 
tor says she is sleeping now, and he thinks 
the danger is past.” 

Thank God ! ” and he threw himself face 
downward on a couch, and sobbed like a child. 


174 


A Gumbo Lily. 


How tenderly we all nursed her back to life 
and strength ! And how I loved that little babe ! 
A portion of the mad idolatry hitherto lavished 
on the mother I now bestowed upon the child. 
It was constantly in my arms. And I could 
not hate that baby’s father. Nevertheless, I 
was too shamed and proud to make any over- 
tures toward him or to respond to the affection 
he had always shown me. The months went 
by. One day as I lay on the couch, deep in a 
book, my mother and stepfather near by, dis- 
cussing a certain man and his business methods, 
I heard my mother denounce the man in 
question most severely, cautioning my step- 
father to have no further dealings with such a 
scoundrel. Her tone sounded a little sharp to 
me. “ All right, dear,” was his answer. ‘‘ Fll 
trust your woman’s intuition for it,” and then 
he kissed her good-by and went out. The 
printed page blurred before my eyes. I began 
to sob. In an instant my mother was beside 
me. Why, darling,” she exclaimed, “ why do 
yon cry ? ” “ Because you spoke that way to 

papa.” It was the first time I had ever called 
him by that name. But mother did not mean 
to be unkind, dearie. And the man is a 
scamp.” ‘‘ Yes, I know,” I said, ‘‘ but you 
ought not to speak that sharp way to him, — 
when he, — he loves you so ! ” My streaming 
eyes were buried in the sofa cushion, her kisses 
were falling on my hair. ‘‘ You are right, 


When Mother Married. 175 

little daughter. I shall never get cross again — 
never. And I am so glad you cared, dear — 
oh, so glad ! ” From that hour I did every- 
thing a little body-slave could have done for 
my accepted father, although I was still some- 
what shy when he petted me. 

There came a time when he was desperately 
tired and worried over certain business matters 
that had gone wrong. One bitterly cold, 
stormy morning in February he appeared 
especially anxious, seeming scarcely to realize 
what he was doing. 

Hastily gathering up some important dis- 
patches mother had been writing, at his dicta- 
tion, he snatched his hat and coat, and started 
for town. Mother’s face was grave for a mo- 
ment, and she sighed. “ Dear heart,” she mur- 
mured, “ he is so worried, and harassed, — he 
forgot.” A feeling as of a great calamity fell 
upon my soul. An instant I stood spellbound, 
then darting out into the storm, bare-headed, 
I ran after him at full speed, crying out, — 
“ Papa, come back. ” 

He turned, in alarm, and came running to 
me. “ You — you forgot to kiss her good-by,” 
I cried. Catching me up in his strong arms, he 
ran swiftly into the house with me, my face 
pressed close to his. Mother sprang forward 
with a happy little cry as we entered. Drop- 
ping me on the couch, he took her in his arms. 

Sweetest, I forgot something when I left. 


176 A Gumbo Lily. 

That cursed business trouble filled my brain.” 
And he kissed her again and again. “ Of one 
thing I am sure,” he went on, “ if the worst 
comes to the worst I am still the luckiest man 
alive, for I’ve got the dearest wife that ever 
lived.” 

I stole to his side. “ And haven’t you got 
anything else ? ” I whispered. Kneeling sud- 
denly, he folded me to his heart. “ Yes — yes,” 
he cried, “ I’ve got the dearest little daughter 
in all the world.” And my mother, stooping, 
kissed us both. 








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